


The Solution

by Ass_Sass_and_Sin



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-07-20 23:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ass_Sass_and_Sin/pseuds/Ass_Sass_and_Sin
Summary: **Jack the Ripper DLC Spoilers**After Jacob’s disastrous confrontation with Jack the Ripper in the Whitechapel cemetery, he’s set to go on the run until Evie returns to London when they can confront the Ripper together. But with Jack so close behind, it’s unlikely Jacob will make it out of the city alive. Jack has other plans for him however, far more vicious than anything he could’ve imagined...





	1. The Reckoning

Jacob jerked the reins back, sending the horse-drawn carriage skidding along the cobblestones until it came to an abrupt stop. He scanned the mostly vacant streets - save for the occasional vagrant - expecting an attack at any moment. There was no sign of the monster terrorizing London but Jacob knew he wasn’t far behind. His icy breaths hung in the chilled air and a dim halo of light from a nearby streetlamp cast an eerie glow across the foggy London street. In the distance, a single crow cawed in warning.

Jacob’s heart pounded in his ears as he hopped down from the carriage and continued on foot, peering over his shoulder as he hurried through the alleyways towards his lodgings. He jumped when nearby church bells rang midnight. Every draw of cold air burned his lungs but he didn’t dare stop to catch his breath. His numbing fingers fumbled in a pocket for a key, finding it just as he reached the door. He jammed the key into the lock and shoved the door open, stumbling over the threshold. He fell back against the door, slamming it shut and double-checking as he relocked it.

He let out a deep breath that he’d been holding in and allowed himself a quick moment to regain his composure. He hissed through gritted teeth and threw his head back against the door when a sharp pang flared from his side. Hot, wet blood seeped through his clothes and dribbled down towards the floor. He pressed his gloved hand against the wound to stymie some of the unceasing flow. He needed to get to a hospital but it would have to wait. He didn’t have much time left.

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and staggered over to his wardrobe, bumping into an end table on the way and tensing as a clay pot shattered across the floor. He threw the doors open and tossed whatever clothes were within arm’s reach into a leather suitcase, wasting no time to sort or fold them first. He had to hurry if he wanted any chance of making it out of the city alive. Once outside London, he would wait for Evie. Together perhaps they stood a chance.

He slammed the overfilled suitcase shut and latched the straps as fast as his shaking hands allowed. His usually dexterous fingers felt cumbersome and slow and he struggled to fasten the last buckle, eventually giving up. He dragged it next to the entryway table, ready to go when he was.

He groaned and gripped his side as another spasm coursed through his abdomen. Drops of blood now made their way down his coat and fell to the floor, creating a small puddle at his feet. His vision started to blur around the edges as he bled out and his stomach sank as he realized the direness of his situation. Jacob sighed and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and for a moment wishing this was all some horrible nightmare he could wake from. His eyes snapped open when a horse whinnied in the darkness and cut his reverie short. Jack was close now. The haunting realization that he wasn’t going to make it out alive sent a shiver down his spine.

Jacob’s focus snapped back in place and he, realizing his time grew shorter every moment, carried out his final plan. He stumbled towards the desk and took a large swig from the nearest liquor bottle to quench his growing thirst. He picked up the nearest pen and shuffled through the papers on the desk to find a blank page to write down his last clue, his one last hope to stop Jack. He found a small piece and placed it on top of the rest, his shaking fingertips leaving bloody prints along the edges. Jacob’s heart pounded as the pen scratched out the beginning of the note:

 

_Evie,_  

_The Brotherhood has been compromised, but there’s a woman who can help._

 

He paused, wondering how to continue. He needed to lead Evie to Nellie but without tipping off Jack, should he find the letter first. He thought hard for a moment, an old woman’s face he hadn’t seen in decades appearing in his mind. _Of course_ , he thought, knowing exactly how to steer Evie into Nellie’s direction. His pen flew across the paper once more as he finished the note:

 

_Unfortunately, she’ll remind you of our childhood neighbor…_

  _Jacob_

 

Satisfied that the note would lead Evie to Nellie, he folded the paper in half and surveyed the room for a place to hide the letter. From the corner of his eye he saw the statuette of Kali the Destroyer sitting on the mantel, giving him an idea. He stuck the paper to the underside of Kali and set the statuette back on the mantel, ensuring that the note couldn’t be seen by Jack. The only thing left to do was point Evie in the right direction.

Still bleeding and getting dizzier by the minute, he staggered into the front room and grabbed a spike from the tool crate sitting by the front door. He limped towards the back room again, this time moving towards the bookshelf over his bed. Sitting between two dusty volumes sat a photograph that Jacob hadn’t laid eyes on in years.

Though taken nearly fifteen years ago, he still remembered the day well. After a long day of training, Evie took Jacob to see the Temple of Kali and, seeing how entranced he was by her intimidating form, had the statuette made to commemorate the trip. While they stood admiring the Temple, one of the Indian brothers snapped the photograph. Jacob looked more closely at the figures in the picture and almost smiled when he looked at his sister’s hooded figure. Henry stood between them, his face - like hers - shrouded by a hood. In front of him stood a much younger Jack, only just a boy then, still young and impressionable. Nothing like the monster that hunted Jacob tonight.

A knot formed deep in his stomach as he yearned for the days where he and his sister roamed the city together, only one Templar Grandmaster in the way of a liberated London. Those were simpler times. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that for long. Hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he didn’t need to use his Vision to tell that Jack was drawing nearer.

He took the spike and drove it through the picture and into the wall harder than was necessary, releasing a yell of frustration that had been building inside him for months now and shook the walls.

Satisfied that Evie would be able to follow his clues, he hobbled back to the desk, his hand clutching his side again, and collected the rest of the papers quickly, smearing fresh swaths of blood along the edges of the documents. In his adrenaline-fueled haste he was so focused on the task at hand that he didn’t hear the soft clicking of the lock to his front door as it was picked open. He turned to leave as a chilling voice behind him sent shivers up his spine.

“Going somewhere, Jacob?”  His stomach dropped. It was too late. The towering masked figure of Jack the Ripper stood in the doorway, blocking Jacob’s only way out.

“Jack,” Jacob pleaded. “You’re sick.” Jack looked down at the jagged knife in his hand, moonlight from the window glinting off the steel blade. He adjusted his grip and approached Jacob with purposeful deliberation, backing the Assassin against the desk. _If I could only get to the door,_ he thought, dropping the papers to the floor. With two small _shinks,_ Jacob released his blades in anticipation.

Jack lunged at him, slashing left and right. Jacob twisted out of the way of the first two blows that would’ve otherwise been fatal, but the third sliced him across his upper arm sending a searing pain into his shoulder. The strike forced Jacob backwards, knocking him into a chair, toppling it over. He regained his footing as Jack came at him again. Ignoring the mounting pain, he dodged and parried attacks in quick succession. He swung his own blades around, wildly missing their mark.

The Ripper evaded all his attacks with ease and replied in kind by slashing across Jacob’s abdomen again. His coat took the brunt of the damage, saving him from spilling his guts on the floor, but this fresh wound still stung and his situation was quickly becoming more dire. He needed to end this quickly.

But Jack was relentless, coming at him again and again: slashing, hacking, slicing at Jacob with unceasing determination. He elbowed Jacob in the face, sending blood spraying across the floor and Jacob stumbling backwards. Jack saw his opportunity and beat down on him again and again, finally knocking him to the ground. Jacob cried out as he scurried backwards, his arm clutching his abdomen as blood poured out his multiple wounds. He backed into the entryway table, knocking a candelabra to the floor beside him.

Jack towered over the wounded man. “Don’t you see the irony, brother?”

“Jack,” Jacob begged. He raised his hands to surrender as the looming figure inched closer.

“Only you know who the Ripper is, but you can’t tell a living soul because it would destroy you and the Assassins,” Jack taunted, kneeling inches from his face now.

Jacob swallowed hard. His heart raced. This was it. Jack had him cornered and he was too exhausted to fight back. He’d tried to reason, tried to fight, tried to run. Now it was all up to Evie.

From the corner of his eye he saw a pistol sitting on the bookshelf across the room and a small glimmer of hope was restored. He grabbed the candelabra next to him and smashed it against Jack’s head, sending Jack tumbling backwards in a howl of rage.

“No, no, no, NO!” Jack shouted. Jacob clambered for the gun, but before he could get completely on his feet his suitcase struck the back of his head. He collapsed to the floor in a daze and rolled over just as Jack leapt on top of him, pinning him helplessly to the floor. Jack held the Assassin down by his throat, knife raised above his head.

“Jack,” Jacob choked through the grip around his neck, pleading one last time. He scrambled to come up with one last plea. “We can fix you.”

The Ripper tightened his grip. “Fix ME?” he shouted back at the powerless man beneath him. “I am the solution!”

Jacob’s eyes widened as Jack plunged the knife down at his head. Jacob turned his head away instinctively as the knife sliced across his eye. A searing pain erupted across his face. Hot blood poured from the wound and pooled beneath his head. His agonizing scream echoed throughout the room, cut short by a small _crack_ as Jack slammed his head against the floor, and his mind plunged into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy(?) 130th anniversary of the Double Event. Aka the night this takes place.


	2. The Descent

Jacob woke sometime later with his head throbbing and vision swirling. His face burned across the left side, his eye now swollen shut. He flinched at the memory of a knife coming down at his face, a sharp reminder of recent events.

He drifted in and out of consciousness as Jack dragged his limp body down the stairs by his coat collar, a small  _ thunk-thunk _ echoing off the bare walls as each of his boots hit the wooden stairs. He groaned, his head lolling on his chest when Jack pulled him outside and threw him roughly into a waiting carriage, the door slamming shut behind him. The horse whined nervously as Jack took the reins. 

The cart jounced along the cobblestone roads, each bump further agitating Jacob’s wounds. He tried to push himself up and onto the seat, hoping to get a look out the carriage windows to see where Jack was taking him, but his hands slipped in something wet on the floor. It took him a few foggy moments to realize he was laying in a pool of his own blood. He watched as Jack drove the carriage onward, not even bothering to see if his captive had awoken. Jacob slowly pulled himself up onto the seat as silent as he could, not daring to get Jack’s attention.

He craned his neck to look out the window. They were already crossing the Thames; time was not on his side. He took a deep breath in, attempting to ignore the scattered pains across his body and steeled himself for what was coming next. Before he could second-guess his decision he flung himself from the carriage, his momentum rolling him along the road behind the cart until he came to a stop. His entire body protested as he pulled himself to his knees.

It took only a second for Jack to realize what he’d done. Jacob heard the squeal of the horse behind him as Jack pulled the carriage around. He had just enough time to get back on his feet and stagger over to the side of the bridge grunting as he hauled himself onto the parapet. He paused to take a deep breath as he prepared himself for the leap into the icy black waters of the Thames below.

“NO!” Jack hollered from close behind. Jacob tensed to launch himself off the bridge, but his hesitation cost him when a pair of thick, strong hands grabbed him by the ankles and hauled him back down to the ground. His hands were too slow to break his fall. He cried out as his face struck the ground, a small  _ crack _ as his nose broke against the cobblestones. Jack flipped the dazed Jacob onto his back. One fist clenched his collar while the other beat on him endlessly, hot blood streaming down Jacob’s face as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

 

Jacob came to as Jack dragged him along a cold tile floor. He peered out from his one good eye and in the dim light recognized the sterile atmosphere of Lambeth Asylum. Tables that once held torturous machines now sat empty and bare, save for the blank sheets draped over them after decades of disuse. A glimpse of a memory passed through Jacob’s mind of a man strapped to one of the machines, his screams only drowned out by the buzzing of electricity passing through his body. Was this the fate that awaited him?

Jacob glanced out the dark windows of the Asylum one last time as Jack pulled him down the stairs and let out a silent prayer that his sister would find him, though whether he’d be alive for that moment, he became more uncertain of by the moment.

Down they went, past the morgue and along a stone-walled corridor lined with foreboding steel doors. The single light hanging from the ceiling flickered above Jacob’s head as Jack pulled him down a spiral stairwell and into the deepest, most isolated chamber. Jacob sprawled across the floor as Jack roughly tossed him to the ground before leaving without even a backward glance. The door slammed shut behind him, the steel clanging with a tone of finality. Jacob pushed himself to his hands and knees and crawled to the far wall, letting out a huff of exhaustion when he sat back against the cold bricks. He looked around at his new quarters as his eye adjusted to the darkness.

The cell was completely empty apart from Jacob. The only source of light shone in through the bars in the door and cast a narrow strip of light across the cell. To his left he heard a faint but steady  _ drip drip drip _ of water falling from the ceiling and landing in a shallow puddle. To his right, he heard a soft scuttle of paws as they scampered across the stone floor making their way to a small hole in the wall. All around him the brick walls closed in tighter.

It was fitting that this was where Jack determined Jacob was to live out the rest of his days. It was almost poetic, Jacob thought wryly, that he should die locked away in the place he’d freed his captor from. Jack always was one for the dramatics. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eye. The apprehension in his gut and frigid air sent a shiver through his body. He pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees to conserve what little warmth he had left, eventually laying his head on his knees. Jacob sat like this for nearly an hour, eventually allowing his exhaustion to overtake him as he fell asleep.

 

When he awoke, he kept his eye shut for a moment, still hoping it had all been a dream and that he was back in his bed at home, a warm fire crackling away in the hearth. The new ache in his back and the chill in the air broke the illusion and, to his dismay, when he opened his eye everything was the same as when he closed it. The  _ drip drip drip _ of the water continued at the same rhythmic pace as before. The thin sliver of light penetrated the cell in the same place. The cold air sat as stagnant as ever. The only change Jacob noticed was the distinct lack of rats scuttling away. He supposed they weren’t accustomed to visitors.

He had no way of knowing for sure how long he’d been asleep; his pocket watch had been lost in the scuffle in his flat and there were no windows or doors leading to the outside of the cell. Based on the grumbling his stomach was making he hazarded a guess that it was at least the next morning.

Using the wall for support he stood up, hissing as the motion aggravated his wounds. A fresh wave of pangs shot through his sore body and he shivered as he slipped his coat and gloves off onto the stone floor. His stiff fingers fumbled with his belts and the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt, both torn and bloodied in several places. He peeled them both off, the blood caking his shirt to his skin, and dropped them onto the coat. He stepped towards the light shining through the door hoping to get a better look at the extent of his injuries. Even in the dim light Jacob could see the severity of his wounds. He flinched as his fingers probed the one across his abdomen, a fresh sting coursing from where the blade sliced him. From what he could see the bleeding had stopped, though there was so much blood it was hard to tell what - if any - was fresh.

He examined each of his wounds. Some stung, others only ached dully, but each one triggered a fresh wave of pain of some kind as his fingers poked and prodded as they assessed the damage. He seemed to have stopped bleeding and a small sense of relief washed over him. He wouldn’t bleed to death at least.

He redressed but what little warmth his clothes may have contained was gone now and they provided little comfort in the musty cell. As he pulled his coat around himself tightly and rubbed his gloved hands together, a new dread set in. It had been hours with no sign of Jack, who didn’t seem even the slightest bit interested in his captive’s well-being. If Jack never returned then Jacob would surely starve to death.

Nobody knew where Jacob was and it would be days before anybody even realized he was missing. Even then, what could they do? Certainly no Rooks were looking for him; they were all either under Jack’s control or dead. Without Jacob’s help, Inspector Abberline’s investigation would get nowhere and Jacob wasn’t sure he wanted Frederick to get close to Jack. Nellie… well hopefully Nellie had done what he’d asked and taken the money and run. No, there was nobody to rescue Jacob. Not unless by some miracle his message made it to India and to Evie. Even then, there was no guarantee Evie would come back, let alone find him before he died of hunger. He was alone, and either he would get out on his own merits or he would starve.

The same stubbornness that got him through life flared. He would not allow himself to die alone in a forgotten pit beneath Lambeth Asylum. He began to formulate a plan of escape. With a renewed purpose, he spent hours examining every crevice in his cell looking for a weakness. He tapped, poked, nudged, and pulled at every brick he could find with no luck. Whoever built this hell built it well.

He was about to give up for a while and rest when he felt one of the bricks shift slightly as he ran his hand over the rough surface. Instinctively, he tried to release his blade to pry the brick loose only to realize that Jack removed both his gauntlet and his second blade whilst he was unconscious. He looked around the dungeon but there was nothing to pry the brick loose with. He tried to pull it with his fingers but, glove or no glove, he couldn’t get the purchase on it to pull it out. He yelled and pounded the wall in frustration, the sound echoing through the chamber. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a small chuckle come from outside the door.

“Having some trouble there, mate?” Jacob rolled his eyes, recognizing the voice.

“Thomas,” Jacob snarled through the bars on the door. “Jack’s got you playing governess, has he?”

“Funny man you are, seeing as you’re the one locked up.”

“Perhaps, but not for long.”

“You tell yourself that. I actually have an important message for the boss and was told ‘e was here.”

“Oh have you? Telling him that you’ve finally learnt to change your own nappies?” Thomas’ face reddened and his mouth twisted into a snarl as a seething rage simmered just beneath the surface.

“Mister Jack is more of a gang leader than you ever were, Frye. While you had us Rooks all meanderin’ about with nuffin’ to do besides sticking our thumbs up our arses, ‘e has us do real work.”

“And I’m sure you’re doing just as piss-poor of a job at that as you ever did - what was it? - ‘meandering about with your thumb up your arse’?” His rage boiled over and the rogue Rook slammed his fists on the door, startling Jacob who jumped back into his cell several feet.

“I don’t have to listen to you anymore, Frye.”

“Not like you ever did in the first place, Thomas. Why do you think you were never promoted, hm? You were a poor excuse for a gang member then and you’re an even poorer excuse for a gang member now, and  _ that _ is why Jack has you coming down here to watch over some poor sod locked away in an inescapable cell.”

“You know what? I’m going to come in there and beat you bloody senseless!” Jacob heard Thomas fumble around with a ring full of keys trying to find the right one. He stood, waiting for the door to open and ready to ambush the oblivious Rook. But before Thomas found the correct key Jacob heard the squelching sound of a knife plunging into flesh. A gurgling, choking sound came from Thomas’s throat as blood poured out of the man’s mouth. Jacob moved to the window in time to see Thomas’ body slide off the knife and slump to the floor. Jack stood over him, red drops splashing across the stone. His body made a few death throes before lying still, a pool of blood blossoming from his chest. His eyes stared out blankly, his last look of shock still etched across his face.

“You didn’t actually think that would work, did you?” The Ripper meandered closer to the door, casting his dark silhouette across Jacob’s exasperated face. “For your indiscretion, you’ll be sentenced to one week of solitary confinement,” he sneered as he left.

“Jack! JACK!” Jacob yelled, but Jack was already gone, and the only response he got was his own voice echoing back.


	3. The Pit

Jack kept his word. He left Jacob alone with only his thoughts and the steady  _ drip drip drip _ of water to keep him company, but for how long, Jacob could only guess. Hours, days, weeks, it didn’t matter; he’d long since abandoned keeping track. Time stopped for him the moment Jack slammed the door shut, locking him in some sort of perpetual limbo.

He found himself spending more of his time asleep out of hunger and boredom, or as close to asleep as he could get on the cold stone ground, only to be awakened by blood-curdling screams coming from the Asylum above. Sometimes he yelled back, but he never got a response. Either no one heard or no one cared.

After what Jacob could only guess was several days the hungry ache in his belly waned only to be replaced by irritation and exhaustion as starvation slowly set in. He’d looked over every inch of his cell countless times searching for some weakness for a while, slowed a bit by his injuries, but nothing proved useful. Even that loose brick had been a dead end. Behind it was more wall and no matter how hard he pried those bricks wouldn’t budge. His Vision provided no help. Everything went grey as usual but nothing stood out, and it only left him more exhausted than before. The cell was all but inescapable and his best idea was now dead. He was out of options.

What little time he was awake that he didn’t spend unsuccessfully trying to slip out of his desperate situation he spent either lost in thought or, as he preferred, tending to his wounds as a distraction. His entire body ached and he wasn’t sure there was a single organ or limb that didn’t have at least some damage to it. Using the drops of water coming from the ceiling, he did what he could to wash the blood off his face. He worked slowly, careful to avoid washing near his eye. It was still mostly swollen shut and as time passed he found he could open it slightly, though in the darkness it was hard to determine if he’d lost sight in that eye or not. He worried about the possibility of failing as a Master Assassin. After all, how could he possibly still be one if he didn’t have all of his senses? He looked around his cell again and realized that it likely didn’t matter. His days were almost over anyways.

His nose wasn’t nearly as tender - years of fighting taught him how to take a punch to the face and keep going - but when Jacob ran his fingers down it he noticed a distinct bend in it that wasn’t there before. His head throbbed constantly. When he felt around he was sure he could feel a new dimple in the back of his skull where it was especially sore and dried blood crusted his hair. Even in the dark he could see black and purple bruises scattered across his arms and legs, most of which he didn’t remember receiving. Jack hadn’t been especially kind while taking him prisoner.

The worst of his injuries were concentrated on his chest and torso where Jack’s knife cut deep into him during their struggles. The two largest gashes were healing better than he could’ve expected given his circumstances and he held out hope that perhaps they wouldn’t get infected. The bleeding had completely stopped and by the looks of them, were both starting to scar over.

He had wondered about his extraordinary ability to heal before. Despite his many antics landing him in the Thames, which would’ve given any normal human cholera several times over, he always seemed to be relatively healthy and rarely came down with anything worse than a nasty cough. He figured he’d been born lucky, though as a child he felt otherwise.

He’d made the mistake of telling a boyhood friend about his extra abilities. The friend only laughed at the ridiculousness of it before telling the other schoolchildren how “that Frye boy is a freak”. His father had, of course, scolded him that night after hearing about it. “Don’t let others know, Jacob,” he’d warned. Ethan had refused to explain why, but by the next week both he and Evie had been pulled from the school and were instructed to continue their lessons at home. More out of fear of being ostracized again than self-preservation, Jacob rarely ever mentioned his abilities to anyone other than his sister. It wasn’t until Jack came along and he recognized the same vacant-yet-focused expression on the boy’s face before he rattled off the locations of everyone in a building that he started talking about it more openly. And even then he was cautious.

He suspected the weather outside must’ve taken a turn for the worse as the temperature in the cell dropped noticeably as time went on and the  _ drip drip drip _ of the water seemed to slow. He worried that what little water he had to refresh himself was freezing before it trickled into his cell and soon even that luxury might be gone. Jacob found himself shivering more and more often. He was cold, his clothes providing almost no warmth now. He regretted not grabbing a hooded coat and he wondered sardonically if he should ask if Jack would be kind enough to grab a different one the next time he found himself in Whitechapel.

One day - or night, he still didn’t know - he woke to a particularly putrid stench that overwhelmed even the fetid odor that emanated from the corner where he had been forced to relieve himself. He moved closer to the door where the smell originated from and realized Jack had left Thomas’ body to rot, letting out a foul, inescapable smell. Retching, he stumbled to a corner of the cell and gagged. The stenches of decomposition and defecation combined into a stomach-churning amalgamation that would overwhelm even those with a cast-iron stomach.

As he retched in the corner Jacob tried to block the gruesome sight from his mind. The body, or what was left of it anyway, was a heaping mass of flesh and innards strewn about the floor courtesy of the rats that found dinner in the night. His face was chewed beyond recognition and in the rats’ haste to get to the body they’d devoured most of his clothes. The Assassin had seen plenty of death in his life, doling out a lot of it himself, but even this proved difficult to stomach. Thomas was never one of his favorites and yet, despite his betrayal, Jacob never wanted to see him like this. He never wanted to see any of them like this. Not his Rooks and certainly not his initiates. He lamented the latter’s deaths the most. After all, it was directly because of him that they were dead.  _ He _ was the one that sent them after Jack. It was on  _ his _ orders that they faced Jack, usually alone. Though going up against the Ripper together didn’t stop him from slaughtering both Lizzie and Katey. 

“Learnt your lesson yet, Jacob?” Jack drawled from the other side of the door, pulling Jacob from his thoughts. Still leaning his elbow against the wall for support, Jacob only glared back in response. Jack chuckled at his defiance. “You will soon enough.”

“You can’t break me, Jack,” he snarled through gritted teeth. He spat out the small bit of bile that collected in his mouth. “I’m done playing your games.”

“Is that so? We’ll see about that,” he said with malicious glee. Jack was relishing in the thought of destroying the man who once thought of him as a son, and with that realization Jacob knew he’d lost him completely. There was nothing left of the orphan he’d taken in and raised as his own. All that remained was a twisted man, so set in his flawed logic that Jacob saw there was no turning back now. He had tried to reason with Jack, tried to plead with him, and all that got him was an empty cell and a death sentence, but no more.

Jacob stood up straight as he could and marched purposely over to the door, a new wave of energy and determination filling him and giving him the resolve to stand up to his captor. He would kill Jack even if it killed him, too.

“Do your worst.” Their eyes met, each waiting for the other to back down first.

Jack sneered as he turned to leave and vanished from view. It wasn’t until he was completely out of sight that Jacob realized he’d been holding his breath almost the entire time he confronted Jack. He let out a heavy sigh and clasped his hands above his head. He groaned as his adrenaline started to fail him. All his aches and pains flooded back and he collapsed to the floor in agony. No longer needing to put on a brave face, he broke down. 

It wasn’t hard to see how his failures led him here. Always brash and impulsive, he should’ve known something like this would happen one day. Until now he always managed to stay one step ahead of the chaos he caused. Not this time. No, this time Jacob was up against someone more reckless and unrepentant than he and while Jacob had lines he refused to cross, Jack had no such limitations. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so reckless while training Jack he never would’ve become the Ripper in the first place. It was all his fault.

Jacob crawled back against the wall and his thoughts spiraled unchecked as he wove in and out of consciousness until exhaustion overwhelmed him and he fell into a restless sleep.


	4. The Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible Trigger Warning!
> 
> Though nothing gets sexual in nature anywhere in this fic, there are some moments of extreme violence that I would describe as "brutal" and "intimate" in this chapter. Please use discretion while reading and note that tags have also been updated to reflect this change.

Eventually Jacob became desensitized to the putrid odor of Thomas’ decaying corpse. He found himself breathing easier, or at least well enough to sleep. Occasionally a slight draft would waft a particularly pungent wave into the cell and he would find himself back in the corner dry-heaving all over again.

Screams still echoed down the stony corridors from the main halls of the Asylum, but Jacob had all but given up trying to get anyone’s attention. He yelled himself hoarse with no luck. His voice, like his body, was weakening by the day. Though the swelling of his left eye was mostly gone now, he still struggled to open it. He resigned himself to the fact that he’d never use it again, though he was now certain he’d never need to. The air was as frigid and still as ever. Jacob found his breath hanging in the air longer as time went on and the cold easily penetrated his worn out clothes which now hung noticeably looser on his thinning body. 

For a long while nobody showed up, leaving him to wonder what would become of him. Surely Jack had plans for him besides leaving him to die of starvation? That wasn’t like him at all, or so Jacob thought. Then again, what did he know of his grown apprentice? Clearly not as much as he thought he had. There was a time where Jacob knew every thought that went through the young boy’s head. But now? Now that boy was the Ripper, and --  if Jacob was honest with himself -- he didn’t want to know what went through the creature’s twisted mind. Long gone was the orphan boy Jacob took in and raised like a son or a brother. In his place was a monster, a monster that caught its prey and toyed with it before devouring it whole. Surely he’s planning something, Jacob wondered. But what? To isolate him until he went as mad as Jack? To starve him to death?

Jacob was startled awake one day by Jack’s booming voice giving orders. “I want this cleaned up by the time Jacob and I are finished in there.”

Two voices murmured responses in fearful obedience. Jacob caught sight of two figures passing by the grated window, a man and a woman, and both young by the looks of them. He recognized them not by their faces, but by their purple and black attire. They were more of Jack’s Rooks. They immediately began toiling away at the gruesome task of discarding Thomas’ remains, knowing that if they failed Jack they would end up the same way. 

Jack’s voice echoed in his head. What did he mean by ‘in there’? He saw the silhouette of Jack’s tophat cross in front of the window and he snapped his eye shut, pretending to still be asleep. His heart pounded in his chest as he worked to control his erratic breathing. If his suspicions were correct, he would only have a moment. He felt the light crossing his face again and stole a quick glance through a narrowly opened eyelid. Jack was out of sight, but Jacob heard him just outside the door, setting something on the ground. Keys jingled as Jack unlocked the cell door.

Jacob ignored the tight ache in his neglected muscles and crouched on the ground, ready to spring forward. The door opened and Jacob lunged towards the door, roughly shoving Jack aside. He darted past the two Rooks, their mouths hanging open in stunned surprise, and up the spiral stairs. His legs screamed as he pumped them furiously up the stairs. _Almost there. Just a little farther! Keep going!_ _No!!_ His knee buckled as he reached the top, sending him down to the cold floor. Below, Jack screamed, and Jacob shivered in spite of himself. He picked himself back up and staggered towards the opposite end of the hall, hoping for an exit. It had been so long ago when Jack brought him down here and he hadn’t been fully conscious. Jacob began to hyperventilate as he ran, the panic rising in his chest. Just when he thought he was lost, he reached an open door at the end of the hall. _Freedom!_

Remembering the way out, Jacob darted through the door and was racing past the morgue when Jack tackled him from behind. His body crashed down on top of Jacob’s, squeezing out what little breath he had left. Jacob gasped for air and tried to crawl away until Jack’s long, cold fingers grasped his throat. Jack hoisted him into the air, his toes dragging along the ground. Jacob clawed at the strong grip, desperate for air. As he struggled to pry the hand from his neck he caught sight of a familiar-looking bottle in Jack’s other hand. He let out a strangled cry as Jack slammed him against the wall and wrenched his jaw open.

“I thought you might try to escape so I brought this as a precaution,” Jack snarled. Using his free hand he opened the bottle and poured its contents into Jacob’s mouth. He sputtered and gagged, his hands desperately trying to push his captor away. Jack held on and he felt his weight sag through the hold around his throat. He choked down the bitter liquid, helpless against Jack’s ever-tightening grip. He found his vision starting to fade as fingers squeezed the sides of his neck. The darkness began to close in. He struggled to break free, syrup dripping from the edges of his mouth. Jack finally let go and Jacob fell to his hands and knees. He wheezed and coughed, spitting the sticky syrup to the floor.

Jack dropped the empty bottle and slung Jacob over his shoulder with ease. Jacob hung limply as he was hauled back to his cell. Jack dropped him to the ground like a sailor tossing a sack onto a Thames dock and slammed the cell door on his way out. Time passed. Whether a minute or an hour, Jacob couldn’t tell.  Jack returned with a tea tray in his hands. He kicked the door shut and marched forward, casting Jacob back into shadow.

Jack set the tray down next to Jacob’s prone form.  _ What the..?  _ On the tray there was no tea, but rather a blank piece of paper, a fountain pen, and -  _ shit -  _ Jack’s knife. He stared at the tray and his vision swam as the effects of the syrup took hold. The entire world around him spun.

“What… what did you give me?” Jacob slurred, his tongue numb and heavy. He squeezed his eye shut for a moment, hoping the feeling would pass but when he reopened it the room still spun - more so than before. Jack chuckled at his confusion as he picked up his knife and knelt heavily on Jacob’s legs, pinning him to the ground. Jacob watched as Jack admired the blade, rotating it back and forth slowly and seeing the light glint off its edges. Jack grinned slowly and then plunged the knife into Jacob’s stomach. 

Jacob screamed in agony as he felt the jagged edges of the blade tearing through flesh. The syrupy narcotic did little to dull the throbbing pain and Jacob cried out as he pulled the knife from his belly, the blade slicing through more tissue on its way out. Blood spurted and pulsed with each ragged breath and he felt bare and exposed as Jack leaned in closer and peeled his soaked shirt and waistcoat away from the wound. Jacob’s eye darted between his captor’s face and hand, which now held the sleek black pen.

“No. No. Please, Jack, no,” Jacob pleaded. His eyes widened as he realized what Jack was about to do. Jack met his eye for a second, then - with a sickening sneer - thrust the pen into the opening. Jacob begged for Jack to stop as the nib filled with his hot blood. His arms felt heavy as he feebly reached out to push his attacker away but only managed to weakly grab one of Jack’s coat sleeves. Once satisfied the pen contained enough macabre ink, Jack set to work crafting his letter.

“From hell,” he read out loud. “I think it’s appropriate, don’t you, Jacob?”

Jack continued writing the letter, pausing only to refill the nib every so often. Jacob only watched in abject terror as the pen scratched along the paper, his arms falling limply to his sides. 

“‘alf... the….kidney…” Jack chuckled before refilling the pen for the fourth time. “Does ‘kidney’ end with a ‘y’, Jacob? I can never remember. Ah well, they get the idea.” Jack wrote on, muttering every few words, sounding them out as if trying to remember how to spell them. He grew increasingly frustrated as the blood clotted and dried quicker each time he dipped the pen in Jacob, each thrust more forceful than the last. The soothing syrup was anything but.

“Jack...” he started, his voice hoarse and weak. “Why are you doing this? Why not just kill me?”

Jack ignored him and continued on. Jacob threw his head back against the wall in defeat and closed his eye. His head spun and he felt nauseous, but it was better than watching as Jack used him as a human inkwell. Jack held the letter up in the light and admired his grisly work before placing it back on the tray with his bloody knife and pen. He stood to leave and looked down at Jacob who, sensing eyes on him, opened his. Jacob saw nothing but loathing and disdain in his eyes. 

“Just kill me,” he implored.

Jack scoffed. “Death would be too easy.” 

The Rook opened the door for Jack’s departure and Jacob met the young man’s eyes with his own. The Rook flinched like he’d been burned and turned his face away from Jacob. The man reached behind Jack and pulled the door shut behind him, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor. Jacob jumped at the sound of the slamming door and idly wondered what Jack had threatened the boy with to receive such obedience. Unlike Thomas, this young lad clearly did not relish the situation. He, and the young woman for that matter, both looked terrified, and neither dared to glance back in the cell, despite their obvious curiosity, while Jack was around. Jacob suspected it would be a capital offense to show any interest in Jack’s favorite guest. After all, Jack had murdered Thomas in cold blood and left him to rot for showing the slightest interest, however ill intentioned it might have been. 

Jacob glanced up as Jack’s silhouette crossed in front of the bars on the door. They eyed each other silently. For a moment, Jacob thought he saw a small flicker of remorse swimming in Jack’s eyes… before it drowned beneath an ocean of malice and sadism. 

“It’s just a shame your dear sister won’t be around to watch you die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the "From Hell" letter, thought to be one of the only genuine letters written during that time claiming to be from Jack the Ripper.


	5. The Withering

Jacob sat unmoving for hours after Jack left - his mind and body both numb - until he laid down and dozed off. He woke back up sometime later and sat up in confusion. He felt like he’d slept for days. He rubbed his eye to wipe the sleep from it, only to draw a swath of blood across his face. He squinted in the darkness, trying to remember what happened. He realized he had fallen asleep in a pool of his own blood and groaned, nauseous, as he remembered the letter. He peeled back his shirt and saw the cut still oozed blood. Why hadn’t it started healing yet? He covered himself back up and leant his head back against the wall.

Days turned into weeks and Jacob’s health only declined further. The noxious syrup left a malodorous aftertaste that lingered for days and occasionally made Jacob gag. His one good eye seemed to have trouble focusing on anything and his Vision was all but completely gone, though he suspected this could be due solely to malnourishment; he couldn’t even remember the last full meal he’d eaten. He also presumed he lost some hearing as well, as he no longer heard the incessant screaming of inmates from the Asylum, though perhaps they’d just begun to quiet down for the winter. 

He estimated that he’d been locked away for well over a month now. His frame was gaunt and frail and the tendons and bones of his joints started to show through translucent skin. His clothes now draped loosely across his body and protected him from the frigid air even less than before. The room felt colder than ever and he couldn’t stop himself from shivering no matter how hard he tried. His extremities were now perpetually numb. His throat and lungs burned with each breath and he felt a sickness starting to take hold deep in his chest, the likes of it he’d never felt before. His entire body ached from the inside out and he woke from a severe coughing fit more often than not. Plagued now by more than just injuries, he couldn’t imagine he had much longer in this world and as the days passed he just wished his end would come sooner.

He thought his wish would come true when Jack returned a long while later. Convinced Jack was coming to put him out of his misery once and for all, Jacob was surprised when Jack just stormed past the cell with hardly a backward glance. He was angrily muttering under his breath, too low for Jacob to hear at first, and pacing back and forth. The longer he muttered, however, the louder he got, until eventually even Jacob’s poor hearing picked up a few phrases.

“...tear her to shreds… that Frye whore...I will kill her.” Jacob thought he misheard at first.  _ Frye whore? Her? _ He couldn’t be talking about…

Jacob’s heart soared as the words processed through his worn out mind.  _ Evie had returned! _ A new fire burned within him, a feverish hope that not all was lost as he’d thought. His eye widened in excitement and he didn’t even care that his dried lips cracked open as a smile passed across his face. He wheezed out a small laugh at the fortuitous turn of events which turned into a coughing fit, spittle and phlegm coming from deep within his lungs. Perhaps it was too early to celebrate, he thought. Even if Evie was in London, she had no way to find him, and time still wasn’t on his side. His blood ran cold as Jack appeared in the doorway after hearing Jacob’s gleeful response to the revelation. 

“You know, Jacob, I was wandering around Whitechapel today, just minding my own business as usual, and what do my Rooks tell me?” Jack unlocked the door, this time keeping a watchful eye on Jacob as he did so. He wouldn’t be caught off guard by an escapee again. “A woman is nosing about your apartment. Well as your protege and as a concerned citizen--” that familiar silhouette stood in front of Jacob now--“I took it upon myself to investigate this nuisance as any good Assassin would and who do I find rummaging through your things? None other than your sister, Evie.”

The corner of Jacob’s mouth twitched upward at the mention of her name, a small sense of pride and excitement betraying his blank face as Jack confirmed his suspicions. He saw Jack struggle to keep his anger in check as his eyes narrowed and fingers flexed, no doubt eager to be around Jacob’s throat once more.

When he spoke again, his voice was even and calm on the surface, but boiled with rage just below. “I will hunt her down just like I hunted you down and I’ll bring her here so you can watch as I slay her like the others, so you can watch as I tear her apart limb from limb.” As he spoke, he leaned in closer until he was just inches from Jacob’s face. “And then I’ll sit back and let my Rook’s have their way with her, right in front of you. They’re always looking for a nice bit o’ jam. And only when she’s begging me for mercy, begging me to end her, will I hand you the knife to finish her yourself.”

Jacob’s face slid from pride and excitement to horror and disgust. He knew Jack meant every word and if Evie wasn’t careful, she would endure his wrath same as the others. Jack opened his mouth to continue but was interrupted by a set of boots echoing down the stairs. A few seconds later, a Rook, the same man as before, appeared in the window.

“Boss,” he wheezed. “We got word that she’s heading to Owers Manor. She got on a train heading west from Whitechapel Station, sir.”

“What?!” Jack screamed back. “Who told her about Lady O?”

The Rook jumped and took a deep breath before replying, his voice shaking. “Sh-she went to the Kenway Mansion, sir. Met with one of Lady O’s girls there.”

“Which one!?” But he already knew. He rounded on Jacob. “That whore of yours, what was her name?” Jack’s eager fingers got their wish as he choked Jacob. “WHAT WAS HER NAME?!” His thundering voice echoed throughout the chamber and his hands squeezed ever tighter. Even if he had wanted to, Jacob wasn’t sure he could say her name.

“I believe her name is Nellie, sir,” the Rook squeaked. “She’s been stirring up all kinds o’ trouble this last month.”

“Nellie, is it?” Jack let go and waved a hand to dismiss the Rook. He turned back to Jacob. “I think I’ll pay this Nellie a visit. Thanks to you and your sister, Jacob, she’s a dead woman.” Jacob choked and coughed, his already-sore throat aching. Jack stormed out of the cell, no doubt on his way to Owers Manor.

A new fear settled in Jacob’s stomach. With Jack’s network quickly starting to crumble around him thanks to Evie, he would be more erratic and unpredictable than ever — now Nellie was in his crosshairs. As much as Jacob worried for Evie’s safety, he worried doubly for Nellie’s. Evie surely knew Jack would be after her immediately, but Nellie was clueless. Jacob hung his head, disappointed in himself for letting her down… for letting  _ them  _ down…. 

Jacob groaned in frustration. Why hadn’t he tried to stop Jack from leaving? Given Evie more time? He scolded himself for his slow wits. He heard Evie’s voice chastising him in his head. How many times had she reprimanded him for this exact matter. How many times had Ethan? He liked to think he’d learnt over the years and that they would be proud of him now, though if Jack was any indication, perhaps he hadn’t. His stomach dropped as his imagined Evie’s disappointed face looking back at his, let down by what he’d done. He rued the moment he’d have to face his sister for everything and if Jack had his way, he’d see Evie sooner rather than later. 

He pulled his knees to his chest and lowered his head onto his crossed arms. He rocked back and forth slowly as the anxiety began to set in. Jack was out there, hunting Evie, and he was powerless to stop him. He shuddered as he imagined her lifeless form on the ground in front of him, guts spread across the floor like the others. He shook the image from his mind.

“Come on, Sister,” he whispered to himself as he closed his eye….

He didn’t realize that he’d dozed off until the cell door slammed shut and woke him with a start. Jacob eyed Jack warily. He had an odd demeanor about him that Jacob couldn’t quite place at first. Jack paced the cell evenly, but his breathing was heavy and erratic and while his arms swung loosely at his sides, his hand clutched his knife. 

“Lady O is dead, I presume?” Jacob guessed. Jack snapped his head towards Jacob.  _ But if Evie killed Lady O, then why was Jack also so… gleeful? _

“I always suspected Evie was more of a killer than you,” he started. “I wonder, if it came down to it, do you think she’d end your suffering? Finally put you out of your misery?” Jacob’s brows furrowed and Jack continued. “Do you think she has the stones for that or is she just as weak and pathetic as you?”

“You’ll never catch her, Jack.” His voice sounded far more confident than he felt. While he had faith in his sister’s abilities, Jack was ruthless and unrelenting. If Jack was intent on finding her, she would be found… eventually. 

“Oh…” Jack leered, “I don’t have to catch her. Not when I have all of London’s police on the lookout for her.” Jacob cocked a brow. “Let’s just say  _ I  _ finished her job at the Manor, and left one poor sod alive enough to give a remarkably accurate description of one Dame Evie Frye….”

Jacob groaned and let his head fall back. It was one thing for Jack to be looking for Evie on his own, but all of Scotland Yard? And what did this mean for Abberline? Surely they were in contact, though perhaps not any longer.

Jack leaned close, too close, and whispered in Jacob’s ear.  “She can’t hunt me now, Jacob. She will never find you.” With those horrible words burning in his ears, Jacob could only watch as the Ripper left him in the dark.

Jacob sat back and took a deep breath, thinking furiously. Just the day before, he’d all but given up completely, ready to succumb to death’s embrace. But Evie’s return to London brought with it a newfound optimism, and Jacob found himself with a small smile across his face for the first time in a long while. He wanted to bask in this feeling of hopefulness, a small, comforting warmth in the dismal chill that constantly plagued him now. 

But the optimism — and any hope he had of Evie finding him alive — could not last as time marched on. Jack returned to Lambeth more frequently, and in a fouler mood each time. For the most part, he seemed to ignore Jacob completely, only glancing in once or twice to see if he was still alive or not. Jack muttered constantly, punctuated by the occasional shout to nobody in particular, and Jacob saw his mind start to unravel as — Jacob presumed — Evie struck blow after blow to Jack’s operation.

Jacob wanted to revel in his sister’s successes but his time left grew shorter by the day. His muscles were now too weak to carry him anywhere and he lamented the lack of dignity his death would carry. He’d always imagined he’d go out in a fight, not locked in some forgotten pit sitting in his own filth. His illness worsened, moving deep within his chest, sending him into coughing fits that caused him to hack up flecks of blood. His head throbbed constantly and he wasn’t even sure he felt cold anymore. He only felt numb. Numb, and tired. 

Evie’s successes were the only things keeping him going, and he still held on to that small glimmer that perhaps she would find him before he died. It was a small hope, he knew, but it was that or nothing. He hoped that one day it would be Evie’s footsteps coming down the stairs rather than Jack’s, but every day, his hope died a little more.

“You didn’t actually think your sister would come to save such a disappointment of a brother, did you?” Jack sneered at him through the bars. “She’s too busy fixing your mistakes to worry about finding you.”

Jacob just glared back…. It was all he had strength for anymore. He opened his mouth to respond but another coughing fit tore through him before he could utter a single word. He would never admit it to Jack, but Jacob agreed with him. Evie didn’t seem to have any interest in finding him. If she had, surely she would’ve found him by now. Perhaps she believed he truly was at fault for everything. It wasn’t hard to imagine she felt this way. After all, it was the truth. It  _ was  _ his fault. All of it. 

Jacob spat more blood. Maybe she thought he was already dead. By all accounts he should be. If Evie had made the journey back to London from India, then he’d been locked away for over a month now. It wouldn’t be much of an assumption that he was already dead. It was the smart thought. But Jack hadn’t given any indication that he’d told Evie so. Though perhaps she wouldn’t care. It had been fifteen years since they’d last seen each other. He’d made one mistake too many and now he’d pay for it with his life.

“I don’t suspect you have long for this world,” Jack said one day, barely suppressing the glee in his voice. “That’s a shame. I was hoping for a family reunion before this is all over but she’s long abandoned you, and now… Now you will die down here. Alone. Helpless. Friendless. And you have only yourself to blame. Unless….” Jack trailed off. A wicked look came into his eyes then. A look that set Jacob on edge. Jack’s eyes gleamed manically and he ran from the cell without another word. Jacob, teetering on the edge of death, only watched as Jack hurried to set his dark plan into motion.


	6. The Gift

Jacob’s mind was in a fog. Jack had come and gone, but Jacob couldn’t remember how long he stayed or how long he stayed gone. He was finding it more difficult to remember anything. He blinked a few times as Jack’s blurred form entered the cell once more. He thought he saw a dancing light hovering in front of Jack. _Probably seeing things again._ Or was he? As Jack drew nearer, the flickering light revealed itself as the lit end of… _a candle?_ He continued to blink and squint, expecting his vision to become clear at any moment, but everything remained dim and unfocused save for the candle.

“Happy birthday, Jacob!” Jack yelled with malicious glee. _What? It’s… my birthday?_ Jacob struggled to think. _How long have I been down here?_ He closed his eye and tried to remember when Jack brought him beneath the Asylum. Too many days to count, it had been so long ago….

As Jack stepped closer, a faint outline of a tray appeared in his hands. It wasn’t until Jack set the tray down in front of him that Jacob saw a peculiar lump sitting on the tray, holding the candle upright. Dancing light cast odd shadows across the indistinguishable mass. _A… cake?_ Jacob’s pulse started pounding in his head as Jack sat opposite the tray, his legs crossed like an expectant child on Christmas morning. A malicious twinkle flickered in his eye as the candle burned low between them. Curiosity got the better of Jacob and he allowed himself another quick glance down at the object.

He immediately regretted his decision. A sudden gust of wind nearly blew the candle out, and Jacob wished it had. His eye widened in horror and he took shallow, rapid breaths. Nausea washed over him as the dancing light flared again, burning bright. It wasn’t a cake that held the candle; it was a heart. A _human_ heart.

“Make a wish!” Jack thrust the heart closer to Jacob’s face. He wanted to look away, to deny the horror before him, but he was transfixed by a drop of wax as it trickled down the side of the candle.

“Come on, Jacob. Make a wish for me,” Jack insisted, holding it closer still. Jacob grimaced and clenched his eye shut, turning his head as far away as possible as his stomach heaved. Jack tut-tutted and put the heart back on the tray. His face mock-pouted in disappointment.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about Evie. I left the rest of this whore as her gift.” Jacob opened his eye to see a twisted smile cross Jack’s face. “I am disappointed I won’t get to see her open it though,” he growled, leaning in close, his breath hot and putrid. “I made sure this one was extra special for my favorite twins’ birthday. I wanted to take things nice and slow. You know how I like it, Jacob. But the whore wouldn’t stop screaming until I cut out her throat —.”

“Please, Jack,” Jacob begged. “Please stop.” If any color remained in his face, it was surely turning a violent shade of green. Jack ignored him.

“But then once she was quiet, I had a lot of fun playing with all her bits and pieces.” Jack smiled and closed his eyes as though blissfully remembering a beautiful day in the park. His reverie was cut short by a gentle knocking on the cell door.

“What?” he barked.

“Sir, we’ve just received word that Warder Billingsworth has been killed.”

“If it’s not one thing then it’s another,” Jack muttered to himself. He dismissed the Rook and turned back to Jacob.

“I’m so sorry to have to leave our party early, Jacob.” Jack stood to leave. “I truly had hoped we could spend the day together, you and I, but once again your sister seems to have meddled in my affairs.” Jack departed and left the tray next to Jacob, who leaned his head against the freezing wall, a grimace crossing his face as he saw the heart out of the corner of his eye. He almost gagged, though his body was now too feeble even for that. Instead, the bitter taste of bile just hung in the back of his throat, unable to go anywhere.

Off in the distance, he heard footsteps approach. They sounded lighter than Jack’s boots, delicately treading down the stairs. Jacob tried to sit up, not daring to hope. _Evie?_ The footsteps got louder and louder, as if they were right next to him. He thought he saw the shadow of a small figure pass in front of the door, a woman by the looks of it. Jacob’s heart beat pounded in his chest. He mustered up the last of his strength to call out to the shadow.

“Evie!” His voice cracked through broken lips and Jacob was sure she heard him. _She had to._ But she didn’t enter the cell. Jacob blinked several times and the shadow disappeared. He looked all around for any sign that Evie had actually been there, but there was none. _Oh god_ , he thought. _I’m going mad myself._ He started to groan in frustration but cut it off before it began as his sore throat burned.

He curled over on himself, pulled his legs in tight, and rested his head on his crossed arms. It didn’t do much for warmth, but it was mildly comforting all the same. He’d expected to fall asleep as he always seemed to, but his mind raced and the palpable tension in the room lingered long after Jack was gone.

_Evie’s coming,_ he reassured himself. _She has to._ He hardly noticed that he rocked back and forth with each new thought. _She’s almost here. She’ll find me before Jack returns, and we’ll run._ Jacob tried to believe, but with each passing thought his hope dwindled. There was no way she would find him in time. If he was being honest with himself, his time was up, and all he could hope for was that Evie would live through whatever horrors Jack had planned for her.

Even if Evie found him, what could he possibly say to make it okay? No amount of apologies would ever be enough to undo the irreparable damage he caused. He thought of the disappointed look she would surely give him, a lifetime’s worth of scorn and disgust at what he had allowed to happen under his watch. He wept as he realized then that he didn’t want Evie to find him. He couldn’t handle her hate-filled gaze boring into him. His eye burned as tears refused to fall, his body long too withered and broken.

 

Jacob was still awake when the screaming started, their shrill sounds masking Jack’s descent. It wasn’t until Jacob heard the creaking of the door opening that he wearily opened his eye. He slowly glanced up at Jack. The intoxicating thrill emanating from him was tangible, like a living thing.

“It’s almost over, Jacob. She’s coming. And when she gets here, I’m going to take my time with her.” Jacob couldn’t miss the obvious glee in his voice. His eyes gleamed with malice and his body almost vibrated with the excitement. Truly, the madness had taken over, and Jacob dreaded the monster Evie would have to face.

“I’ll bring her in here and flay her slowly while you watch,” he continued. He pondered for a moment. “I wonder which Frye will die first? Or perhaps she’d rather join me? What do you think, Jacob?”

Jacob glowered as best he could. He felt sick at the thought of Evie joining Jack. No, Evie would never work with Jack. Of that much he was certain.

“Go to hell,” he croaked, too exhausted to fight anymore. He closed his eye. He was ready for it all to be over. He drifted down….

“No, you cannot die yet!” Jack shouted in his ear, shaking him so hard his teeth rattled. “You will sit and watch as I tear your sister apart. You will listen to her scream and beg, just like my mother did. And only once Evie has taken her last breath will I finally allow you to die.”

“Jack,” Jacob whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save your mother. I’m sorry for letting you down. I’m sorry for everything.”

“Oh, you’re _sorry_ ?” Jack mocked. “She told me to run. To go to _you_ ,” he sneered. “You were supposed to protect her, but you left her to die. You will feel everything she felt as they stole her life.”

Jacob hardly saw the first kick coming. He cried out as he felt and heard a _snap_ in his chest and curled in on himself, but not before Jack’s foot came down on his wrist with a sickening _crunch_. Jack’s boot came down again and again.

Jack was relentless. Seething, he switched to his fists and starting beating Jacob’s face. One, two, three punches… he lost count. He wailed as Jack hit him across his already ruined eye, the pain of it excruciating. The hits didn’t slow down, even as Jacob pleaded for his life through a bloody face.

_Why can’t it be over?_ _God, why can’t it just be over?_

Jack stopped.

Each shallow breath stabbed his chest and hot blood poured from his eye and nose, turning his world red. He cried out as Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him back upright. His body slackened and hunched over and one weary eye opened as the screaming from upstairs quieted.

A smirk slowly spread across Jack’s face and his eyes lit with excitement. “Do you hear that? She’s close,” Jack whispered, his voice quivering in anticipation.

“Here she comes, Jacob. Here she comes to die.” Jack spun on his heels, his coat whipping around behind him. He disappeared. Deep in the undercroft of the Asylum, Jack awaited his prey.

Jacob hung his head, too tired to hold it up. His left arm rested on his thigh while the right, the one Jack crushed, sat limply to his side. He struggled to move it at all, but then again, he struggled to move anything now. His ribs throbbed and each shallow breath left a small mist hanging in the air as he barely hung on.

He sat motionless, listening to footsteps pattering delicately on the stairs. Jacob wanted to call out a warning. To tell them to turn back. Instead, his breath caught in his throat and only a fit of dry coughs came out. The footsteps paused just outside the door. A foot shuffled along the ground and a shadow crossed over him once more.

“Jacob?” A small but fiery voice called out. Jacob tried to answer, tried to let her know he was still alive, to tell her to turn back before it was too late, but his mouth wouldn’t obey. He could only listen despairingly, one last tremble rolling through him, as Jack’s booming voice echoed throughout the chamber.

“Welcome to the reunion, Miss Frye!”


	7. The End

Evie’s footsteps faded as she made her way deeper into the undercroft. For a moment everything was silent and Jacob waited and listened with bated breath. _Why would she come down here?_ He wanted to call out and tell her that it was a trap, tell her to run, but it was too late. Jacob’s skin crawled as Jack’s shout echoed through the basement as he ambushed Evie. He waited, straining to hear the scuffle, wishing desperately he could do anything to help Evie. _If only I could move._ He heard the sick thud of bone hitting bone and Evie shuffled back to her feet.

 

_ “There is a sickness in this world, Miss Frye. It made our creed weak. But I am here now. I will tear into all sickness, all the rot and shit of this city and rip it out. We shall be pure again. The Assassins shall rise and we shall rule.” _

 

Jacob let out a small sigh of relief. She wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway. Occasionally he heard small grunts as Jack and Evie struggled, neither one able to gain the upper hand. The fight drifted away and their scuffle became quieter with each passing moment until eventually, he couldn’t hear anything at all.

He squeezed his eye shut.  _ I will be remembered as the Assassin who created this monster. _ It was his fault that the London Assassins had fallen, his fault Jack had become this  _ thing _ … and it was his fault Evie would die by Jack’s hand. 

 

_ “This is my time now. Jacob’s is done and you must choose.” _

 

His time  _ was  _ done, regardless of the victor. He felt death’s cold embrace drawing ever closer, each ragged breath shallower than the last. He only wished he’d been able to say goodbye to Evie one last time.  _ Why didn’t I send for Evie sooner?  _ If she’d been here to deal with Jack the way he couldn’t — or wouldn’t — then none of this would have happened. Annie, Mary, Katey, Lizzie, the poor woman Jack mutilated for his own pleasure... they would all still be alive. And he wouldn’t be on the brink of death himself. Now they both would pay the price.

 

_ “The people must fear us, and you know it!” _

 

He should’ve seen it sooner: the twisted vileness that had always lurked just beneath Jack’s surface. He chuckled quietly, a hollow sound with all the humor of an open grave. He  _ had  _ seen it; he had always seen it yet chosen to overlook it as something Jack would overcome in time.  _ Stupid… I was stupid to think that Jack would ever change from his sick, depraved ways. _

Jacob jolted out of his musings and his heart skipped a beat as two gunshots rang out. He listened closer, desperate to know who fired the gun, to know if Evie was okay, to know if she was still alive. 

 

_ “I’ve seen you wield your tools of terror, you’re just like me...” _

 

Jacob shuddered as he thought back to what Jack said when Evie first returned to the city. How he’d been watching her, studying her, waiting for the best opportunity to strike. Perhaps she’d been lucky to have survived this long in Jack’s London. Or perhaps Jack underestimated her. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Jacob listened as the fight returned to the front of the chamber and his heart skipped a beat as another gunshot rang out, the bullet clanging against his door. He heard Evie’s grunts as she struggled against Jack, his next words dripping with malice.

 

_ “Do you see the truth your brother did not? Are we not the same you and I?” _

 

Anger pulsed within him.  _ Evie is nothing like you!  _ She was nothing like the monster that now chased her beneath the Asylum. No, if anything Jack was just like  _ him _ : reckless and impulsive. It’s no wonder Jack became the Ripper when he had Jacob as a mentor.

 

_ “Hiding are we? Ha! I learned all your tricks from your brother, Assassin!” _

 

Jacob’s heart raced as a chilling silence permeated the chamber. She might actually have a chance as long as she remained out of sight. If there was one thing Jack hadn’t mastered, it was stealth, and Jacob’s lips cracked a small smile. Evie was the master of stealth. 

 

_ “Come out, sister, join Jack….” _

 

Jacob’s stomach turned at the thought of Evie by Jack’s side, but he took a small bit of pleasure at hearing Jack’s rage simmering at Evie’s obstinance. Despite Jack’s best efforts, Evie seemed to remain hidden from view, stalking her stalker and waiting for the right moment to strike. Jack’s ongoing jeers filled the silence.

 

_ “Still think you can hide from me? Jacob thought he could hide from me, too….” _

 

_ YES!! _ Evie struck Jack, the dull thuds of fists hitting flesh barely audible beneath Jack’s howls of pain. Jacob thought it was over until he heard her own shouts of pain as Jack struck back. Jacob tried to push himself up, but his broken body failed him and he fell back against the wall.  _ I have to help her!  _ His heart beat erratically as a piercing pain shot through him with each laboring breath and he hung his head once more in defeat. 

 

_ “Mine is the face of the true creed! Will you join me? Or must I rip out your vitals and send them to your beloved Inspector?” _

 

Jacob regretted that he wouldn’t be able to set things right with Inspector Abberline. After all, they’d been close friends for near twenty years. But that friendship crumbled when Jacob refused to see what everyone else saw as Jack tore everything apart. Frederick must’ve thought he’s a monster for letting Jack loose on the city, and rightly so. He  _ was  _ a monster... just like Jack. Jacob eyed his trembling hands.  _ After all these years, how much blood is on my hands?  _ If anything, Jack was just a superior version of him. More efficient. More ruthless.

 

_ “See Jacob, your noble sister has come to die for you!” _

 

Jack’s voice moved around the chamber once more, and Jacob could only sit and listen as he chased after Evie. He heard occasional gunshots, but if any hit Jack, none proved fatal.  _ She must be tiring by now, _ Jacob thought.  _ If she doesn’t end this soon, then Jack will surely end her. _ Jacob clenched his eye shut and turned his head towards the wall, trying to push the image of his dead sister from his mind. As if hearing his thoughts, Jack yelled out once more.

 

_ “I will cut her like the others and display her innards for the world to see! For you, Jacob!” _

 

The image of Evie lying dead on the ground filled his mind; her organs strewn across the floor, just as Jack had done to the others. He tried to block out the fight from his mind, tried to block out everything, but Jack’s voice continued to penetrate his thoughts.

 

_ “I will lay you twins together in death. It will be my grandest work to date!” _

 

What an irony. The last time either of them was so close to death they were together. It had been twenty years but he could still remember the unearthly feeling as the Shroud drained the twins’ of their life force. At what they thought was the very end, they’d shared a small moment, an understanding that if one died, the other would surely follow soon after. They came into the world together. Perhaps they were destined to leave it the same way.

 

_ “Your sister will be the last victim of your pathetic Creed. Do you hear me, Jacob!?” _

 

Perhaps keeping the Shroud a secret was the one thing he did right in this whole ordeal. Jack no doubt would’ve tried to bring his mother back, consequences be damned. Jacob wasn’t sure it was possible, but with all he’d seen, he wasn’t willing to take the chance for once.  _ If only I’d killed that bastard Starrick sooner… reclaimed London faster.  _ Everything happened so fast, and yet not fast enough.

 

_ “Evie will fall and be forgotten — just like you and your obsolete Creed!” _

 

Jack was right. It was Jacob’s fault. If his mother hadn’t died, Jack never would’ve been sent to Lambeth, to this eternal hell. Had Jacob’s own guilt not overwhelmed him, perhaps he would’ve thought better than to break Jack out. He would’ve stayed at Lambeth, possibly indefinitely. It wouldn’t have been the best life, but at least everyone else would still be alive. He should’ve known better. He always should’ve known better.

 

_ “I’ll rip out her vitals and lay them in your lap, for you to take the blame, Jacob!” _

 

_ I certainly deserve it, _ Jacob lamented. Perhaps this was his long-awaited punishment for everything he’d done in his youth. He wasted so much time wandering the London streets, his good deeds hardly outweighing the rest of his lawless behavior. Perhaps this was punishment for his handling of Assassin business. He was never subtle growing up, and that certainly didn’t change when he arrived in London. He swiftly took out his targets, but always left disaster in his wake. What were their names again? It had been so long ago….

 

_ “As cowardly and inept as your twin….” _

 

Of course Evie would have the courage to kill Jack. She was always the best Assassin in Crawley and, though Jacob never admitted it, in London. He’d hoped that when she moved to India, perhaps he would finally get the recognition he deserved. But now he realized that he never deserved recognition, only death.

 

_ “I lose patience with your child’s play!”’ _

 

Evie attacked once again, her shouts drowning out Jack’s until everything went quiet  Was it all over? His heart raced as he listened to the deafening silence that seemed to stretch on and on. It was broken by a blood-curdling scream of an exploding fear bomb.

 

_ “What?!” Evie cried out. _

_ Jack’s voice disembodied voice echoed, “Jack the Ripper cannot die! That woman thinks your mad! Free yourselves! Kill that madwoman!!” _

 

Doors clanged open nearby and shouts of Asylum inmates flooded the basement. Jacob barely heard Evie’s next words over the din as the men rampaged around the undercroft, seeking out their target.

 

_ “I know you blame Jacob for your mother’s death, but nothing can excuse the horrors you’ve committed! Jacob was like a father to you, Jack. You have betrayed his trust and sullied the Creed!” _

 

Looking back, Jacob realized how little he deserved her. Her faith in him never seemed to waiver. Even at his lowest point, when all was lost, she still believed in him. The lone tear he still had left in his withered body burned a trail down his cheek.

 

_ “Show me your monster, Assassin! These lambs need slaughtering!” _

 

Was he destined to be like Ethan? A failed father of a reckless son? Perhaps that was the Frye family curse.

 

_ “You are weak, Assassin!” _

 

He should’ve listened to Evie more. She was always right about everything. Maybe if he’d listened to her, she never would’ve left London, and this devastation would have never happened.

 

_ “Cower before the new face of the Assassins.” _

 

Perhaps Evie was right to dismiss his idea to create the Rooks. He should’ve never started the gang. As with everything he touched, it was destined to go awry eventually.

 

_ “You cannot kill the Ripper!” _

 

Evie’s voice floated into his head, a long-faded memory of the two of them on a carriage together. “Whatever’s left of the Creed would perish under your control,” she’d said. He’d laughed her off back then, and yet, twenty years later, she was right. Perhaps the city would’ve been better if he’d never come to London at all. The Templars would still be in control, but was that a worse fate than what Jack had planned?

 

_ “I am not the monster!” Evie screamed. _

 

Another memory, one of he and Evie on top of a train, the industrial town of Croydon passing by in a blur. He was on his way to assassinate a target. He’d poised himself to jump from the train and turned back one last time, wishing his sister well as she continued onward to her own target. “Have fun,” he’d said, his usual sly grin adorning his face.

“Don’t die,” she’d teased.

 

_ “You will not make a monster of me!” _

 

Everything went quiet, save for the screaming still echoing from upstairs. His body relaxed, waiting for the end. He knew he’d let her down one last time, but he’d apologize in the next life….

 

 

 

 

 


	8. The Reunion

Until recently, Jacob had never given much thought to the afterlife. With all he’d seen and experienced he wasn’t even sure there _was_ an afterlife. If one did exist, Jacob had always assumed he was destined to go down rather than up. Killers, regardless of purpose, didn’t go up. But, if this _was_ Hell, it wasn’t all that bad, was it? No fire and brimstone. No excruciating torture. Just more of the same: a cold, damp, empty cell. An eternity passed and everything was silent. No Jack. No Evie. Nothing.

He heard footsteps shuffle closer, every few paces separated by the sound of a heavy mass scraping along the floor. The steps paused at the door, their sound replaced by the jingling of keys as the bolt unlatched and the door swung open with a loud creak. The footsteps and scraping resumed until the mass dropped to the floor with a dull thud. The door clanged shut and footsteps cautiously approached, their soft patter drowned out by the gasps of someone catching their breath. Light brighter than any he’d felt in weeks crossed his face as the flickering flame of a lantern was brought closer. He heard the grating of the rusty handle as someone held it above his head, bathing his entire body in its warm light.

His visitor’s breath hitched before they descended down towards him, abandoning the lantern to the floor and wrapping him in their warm arms. Gentle hands held his head up, their touch radiating heat.

“Jacob,” a quivering voice called to him, that same voice he hadn’t heard in fifteen years. Dextrous fingers lightly probed his face, taking great care to avoid his eye and nose. The warm arms tensed around him as the door clanged open once more. He let his head rest against her shoulder, one hand still resting on his face protectively. The woman’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath, her heart beating erratically.

After a moment of silence, another familiar voice called out, “Miss Frye, what the hell happened here?”

“Nothing, Inspector. Nothing happened here,” Evie snapped back. She leaned in closer and her voice, like her hold on Jacob, softened. The room was quiet for a moment as Jacob listened to her steady breathing. “Trust me,” she continued, releasing a sigh of relief. “Jack the Ripper is dead.”

Jacob felt Evie tense once more as a man called for Abberline, his voice sounding dangerously close.

“Now help me, Frederick,” Evie pleaded. “No one must ever know that Jack the Ripper was an Assassin.”

The same disembodied voice called out again, heralding the arrival of the journalists. Evie’s face pressed against Jacob's as she held him tighter and they waited for Abberline’s response with bated breath.

“I want those vultures gone this instant, is that clear?” The door slammed shut once more. For the first time, it felt comforting rather than condemning, now protecting him from what awaited him on the other side.

A sense of solace washed over both of them and Evie relaxed her hold on him once more. She took his head in her hands and he felt her eyes on his. Terrified to see the disappointment, anger and hatred on her face, his heart raced as he started to open his eye. But there was no disappointment, no anger, no hatred. Only pity.

“It’s over, Jacob,” she whispered. “I’m here.” A small, reassuring smile crossed her face and relief washed over him like a rainstorm after a drought.

He choked out a small, dry sob, his head nestling on her shoulder as Evie pulled him in tight. She rested her face on his, enveloping him as best she could and sharing her body heat. He wanted to sit there forever, entwined together, barely moving and just holding each other. He shivered and Evie held him tighter still. Cradled in her arms, feeling whole in a way he hadn’t in a long, long time — Jacob slept.

 

*****

 

He woke sometime later to the feeling of his body being maneuvered around. Evie’s arms no longer wrapped around him, his heart raced as he started to panic. _Had it all been a dream?_ His eye spun wildly as he tried to find his sister, finally spotting her near his feet. He watched as she wrapped a blanket around his legs, her eyes brightening when she saw he was awake once more. She finished bundling him quickly and knelt down next to his face.

“It’s okay, Jacob. We’re getting you out of here.” She ran a soft hand across his forehead, brushing his hair out of his face. He closed his eye and felt as she delicately wrapped more blankets around him, taking care to avoid jostling him any more than necessary.

He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep again until he woke up to sharp pains shooting through his body and he cried out as two sets of arms grabbed him at each end and hoisted him into the air. He heard Evie whisper a soft apology from behind him as she and Abberline slowly lowered him back down onto a soft mat. The throbbing persisted even as they released him, and looking down he realized he now laid on a stretcher. With a quick nod from Abberline, he and Evie lifted Jacob with ease.

He felt like he was floating as they carried him out of the prison. He stared up at the cracked ceiling and felt a sense of deja vu as they passed under the flickering lamp overhead. They reached the steps to the main area of the Asylum and stopped. Jacob watched as Evie stared off into the distance. It was eerily quiet. Where had all the inmates gone?

Satisfied the way out was clear, Evie lead them up the stairs. As they rounded the corner at the landing and began making their way upstairs, a sliver of moonlight crossed Jacob’s face. His hand snapped up and clutched Evie’s sleeve with surprising strength. Understanding his silent message, she stopped.

His chest tightened and lip trembled. He stared upwards, marveling at the moon and watched as the clouds parted and revealed twinkling stars dotting the inky night sky. He hardly dared to blink, afraid that if he did the scene would disappear forever. He choked back invisible tears as Evie watched him, her own lips tightening. A small sniffle betraying her otherwise stoic demeanor broke the silence. He wanted to stare for hours, but voices approaching cut his musings short. He let go of Evie’s sleeve and dropped his arm limply to his side.

He continued to stare as Evie and Abberline carried him quickly and quietly through the empty Asylum, pausing as they reached a door. As Evie opened it, a frigid gust of wind from the outside blew past them. Jacob grimaced and his lungs burned as they drew in icy air, his teeth clattering uncontrollably as he was carried across the Asylum lawn.

“We’re almost there, Jacob,” Evie murmured. They stopped next to an ambulance, its driver shivering near the back. The man glanced down at Jacob for a moment, obvious pity in his eyes, before opening the doors. He helped Evie and Abberline load Jacob into the back, and Jacob watched as he held out his hand to help Evie step out of the carriage.

“I’m staying,” she said, sitting on the bench alongside her brother and taking one of his icy hands in hers. The man opened his mouth, but he thought better than to argue when he saw Evie’s jaw flex. The man nodded and stepped out of the way as Abberline came closer.

“I must stay here, Miss Frye. There are still too many wandering eyes.”

“Of course,” she nodded. Abberline gave a quick pitying glance to Jacob and stepped away as the driver closed the doors. Jacob felt the carriage lurch forward. Even the rattling of the carriage didn’t stop exhaustion from overwhelming him and he dozed off only moments later.

 

He woke again when the carriage stopped abruptly and rough hands jerked the stretcher from the back, nearly sending Jacob toppling to the ground. He heard Evie scold one of the nurses before shoving her aside and taking the end of the stretcher in her own hands, lifting it onto a waiting gurney. He watched as they wheeled him under the archway reading ‘St Bartholomew’s Hospital’ and they made their way into the building.

Upon reaching the surgical theatre hands started grabbing and tearing away at his clothes, each jostle more agonizing than the last. He warily glanced over as a well-dressed man strolled in, his clothes protected by a blood-stained apron. The doctor picked up various surgical instruments from a cart, examining each tool closely and admiring their sharp edges. Jacob’s heart pounded as the doctor twirled the knife in his hands, the light glinting off the blade.

He was back in his cell, sitting helplessly against the wall once more. Jack sat in front of him, knife in hand. A twisted smile crossed his face. _No. No, not again!_

“Jacob?” He heard a woman’s panicked voice. “Jacob!” Evie stared down at him, her hand on his shoulder. “Jacob, it’s okay.”

As if hearing his silent pleas, she leaned in close. “It’ll be okay, brother. I’ll be here when you wake up.” She stepped out of the way as a nurse placed a mask on his face. He took in several shallow breaths of the odd-smelling gas. His vision darkened within moments and he fell unconscious.

 

He woke up, dazed and confused. _What? Where am I? Was it all a dream?_ He blinked the sleep from his eyes, trying to get his bearings. He attempted to adjust himself but his entire body was too stiff and he struggled to move anything but his arms. He slowly raised his hand to his face and ran his fingers along the bandage that wrapped around his head. His fingers worked their way down his body, bandages wrapped around him everywhere it seemed: his torso, his wrist, one of his legs.

He glanced over. True to her word, Evie sat slouched in a chair by his bedside, fast asleep. Her head rested against the back of the chair, her arms folded across her chest and her mouth hanging slightly open, a small dribble of drool forming at the corner. Finally getting a good look at his sister, he noticed the dark patches under her eyes and the slight mess to her normally neatly-coiffed hair, several leaves stuck in tangles. Dirt coated her hands. A pang of guilt shot through him. What had she gone through to find him?

Evie woke with a start as two sets of footsteps approached the room. Jacob snapped his eye shut, hoping she hadn’t noticed he was awake yet. He felt sick at the thought of Evie finally telling him off. Perhaps another day.

“How are you, Nellie?” he heard Evie ask, but Nellie’s response was too low for Jacob to hear.

“Yes, he’s —” Evie paused — “still asleep. I’ll be certain to let him know you stopped by. These are lovely, by the way.”

“Come, Nellie. I’ll take you home,” Abberline said, and Jacob heard them depart. He kept his breathing even as he heard Evie come closer, setting something glass on the bedside table.

“I know you’re awake, Jacob. You can’t fool me.” He opened his eye and glanced over at the gifts, avoiding meeting Evie’s pressing gaze. Abberline had brought him a bottle of his favorite beer; Nellie, a small bouquet of flowers.

He rolled over onto his side and watched as Evie pulled her chair closer to the bed and settled back down. She gave him a quick, comforting smile as she pulled her hood over her face and leaned back. “I think it’s time we both rested, brother.” Jacob gave a small nod and nestled under the warm covers.

His mind wandered back to when he and Evie were young children and how, on the rare occasions one of them became sick, the other would drag blankets from their own room to create a makeshift bed. Each night they’d hold hands while falling asleep, a small gesture to let them know they weren’t alone.

He reached out from under the blankets and brushed the back of his frail hand against her own, unsure if she would remember this small detail from their childhood. He met her eyes as she peered out from under her hood and for a moment, he worried that she would pull away, too angry with him to return the gesture. Instead, she smiled, and took his hand into her own. She gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze before closing her eyes once more. Neither let go, even as fatigue overwhelmed them both and they fell into deep sleep.


	9. The Aftermath

Jacob wasn’t sure how long he slept. An hour? A day? A week? It didn't matter. He woke up exhausted as ever and the feeling seemed determined to stay. Now that the sedatives and narcotics had worn off, Jacob felt the full brunt of his pain once more. He shifted under the covers trying to alleviate some of the stiffness in his cramped muscles and felt the tug of the bandages still wrapped around his feeble frame. His face itched and he tried to tear off the wrappings covering his mutilated eye.

“Jacob, don’t pull at those.” Evie sat beneath a lit lamp — the only light in the room — her eyes scanning the pages of an open book. She set it on a bedside table next to a clear glass bottle of laudanum and sat forward in the chair, arching her back like a cat and letting out an enormous yawn. “Here,” she offered, uncorking the bottle. “Doctor’s orders.” He shook his head and pursed his lips, eyeing the bottle with suspicion. It had been weeks since the incident with the syrup, but it was still fresh in his mind.

“I promise you this will help,” she pushed. He shook his head once more. He’d rather endure the pain than swallow one more mouthful of the stuff. Recognizing defeat, Evie recorked the bottle and set it back on the table. She gave him a pitying glance before moving on.

“Frederick brought us breakfast,” she said. She waved her hand towards two plates topped with eggs, bacon, and toast. “We thought you might be ready to eat.”

Jacob winced as he tried to push himself up, his frail arms giving out beneath his weight. Evie grabbed him under the shoulder and helped pull him upright. He gasped for air, waiting for the sharpness in his chest to subside. Evie pulled her chair closer and sat down.

He stared at the food as she set the plate on his lap. He’d dreamt of this moment for a month, yet now that the moment was here, he found that he couldn’t care less. His gut wrenched with a worrisome thought: Was it too late for him? Was he beyond help?

“Jacob, you’ve got to eat something.” She pushed his plate closer, encouraging him to take a bite. He sighed and brought a piece of bacon to his lips and paused. He felt Evie’s expectant gaze on him as he tasted food for the first time again.

Sadly, nothing carried the same satisfaction as it had before and he found himself chewing mechanically, only eating for Evie’s benefit. Certainly his sore throat didn’t help and each bite felt like he was swallowing a razor blade. He vaguely remembered the aroma of fresh bacon sizzling in the pan, but the smell that existed now was dull in comparison. He dutifully nibbled on the toast for a few minutes before putting it back on the plate only half-eaten. Evie frowned but remained silent and returned the plate back to the tray as Jacob slid back under the warm covers. He turned to face the covered window as a small bit of light started to pass through the curtains. As if hearing his longing thoughts, Evie drew the curtains back.

Jacob stared out at the horizon where the sky’s inky blackness started to give way to a new day. The stars disappeared one by one as the darkness faded. As the sun began its ascent, the navy sky mixed with oranges and reds painting a rainbow across the sky. Perhaps this was the sky he missed the most while locked away. Not the bright light of day nor the shadowy darkness of night, but the time in between, when everything was a possibility. Down in the courtyard he saw doctors and nurses make their way into the building, ready for another day of work. Finally the sun rose above the skyline, and the bright blue of the day sky pushed away the last hues of dawn. He squinted as the brilliance of the sun illuminated his face for the first time, his weary eye still adjusting to the bright light.

He’d forgotten about Evie in the room with him until he felt her pull the covers up closer to his face, blanketing everything below his neck. He felt the mattress sag slightly as she sat on the edge of the bed once more, resting her hand on his shoulder. She sat with him — for minutes or hours he didn’t know — until fatigue set in once more and he dozed off.

 

Jacob woke to Abberline’s voice, the sun now high in the sky. “How is he?” Jacob stayed still, facing the window while he listened.

“He’s better. He’s eaten now but hasn’t said a word and refuses any medication.”

“Doesn’t look like he ate much.”

“No. But perhaps… Well, thank you for bringing it.”

“Of course. I’d best be off. I have some paperwork at the station that needs doing. Should you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.” Abberline’s footsteps receded and Jacob felt Evie’s hand on his shoulder.

“Jacob? Frederick brought your favorite.” A month ago his mouth would be salivating just at the thought. Now, it left a hollow ache in his belly.

“You’ve got to eat something,” Evie said when he didn’t move. He sighed as she pulled him up from under the covers once more and watched as Evie prepared their plates.

They ate in silence, much to Jacob’s appreciation. He picked away at his plate bit by bit, and worried.  _ How long? How long until she gives up this pretense and tells me how foolish I’ve been? How stupid? _ He’d done his best to avoid her watchful eyes, no doubt full of anger and hate. It was only a matter of time until she let him know how she truly felt, and though he doubted there was anything she could say that he didn’t already know, hearing it from her would be infinitely worse. No apology would ever be enough. Though perhaps she wouldn’t say anything at all, but simply leave him alone and broken.

Feeling sick, he pushed his half-finished plate away and tucked himself back under the blankets. From the corner of his eye he saw the concern on Evie’s face as she removed the plate from his bed. He waited for her reprimands, for her to tell him to pull himself together, but they never came. If she had any criticisms she kept them to herself. He turned to face the window once more and his mind drifted like the clouds overhead until he fell into a restless sleep.

 

He woke the next day to his worst fears confirmed: Evie was gone. He looked all around the room but there was no sign of her anywhere. He knew it was bound to happen sometime, but the suddenness of her departure pained him. She didn’t even let him say goodbye.

He watched as dark clouds matching his dour mood floated overhead, threatening a downpour of rain onto the busy London streets. He didn’t have to wait long for the sky to open up. After a few minutes, he heard heavy breathing enter the room and he turned to see Evie standing in the doorway, her hair and clothes dripping wet.

“I’m so sorry, I was out running an errand and thought I’d be back before you woke up.” The empty feeling vanished. Perhaps Evie wasn’t leaving after all. He wondered what kind of errand she had to run but decided not to ask, instead sat silently as he watched her prepare their lunch. 

 

The week passed in a cycle of naps and meals. Evie never complained, just accepted his unusual routine and adjusted herself accordingly. As far as he was aware, she never left his side except for the occasional grocery run and she always returned within a few minutes of him waking. The glass bottle of laudanum remained untouched despite Evie’s insistence that taking even a small amount would help, though she never pressed too hard, much to Jacob’s appreciation.

Despite his minimal appetite, Evie always piled his plates with food, no doubt hoping that one day soon he would finally eat everything that she offered, but everything tasted just as bland as ever. Even his favorites no longer held their appeal and he would return the plates barely touched. Occasionally Evie would try to strike up a conversation, always light and usually about the goings-on of the Indian Brotherhood. Jacob listened as she recounted her and Henry’s many adventures. She always started each tale with a smile on her face, but by the end, he could see sorrow in her eyes as she longed to be back in her own life: away from London, away from Jacob’s mess, away from him.

He felt selfish for wanting her to stay, but without her, who would he have? He and Frederick were no longer friends, he’d burned that bridge long ago. Nellie surely wouldn’t want anything to do with him. He’d put her in mortal danger and he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. He had no gang to speak of, no recruits, no Jack….

In a twisted way, he would miss Jack, if only because the cat-and-mouse games they played for the last year had given him a sense of purpose. Now — without Evie —  he would have nothing… no one.

 

He would be entirely alone.

 

While his body healed, nightmares began plaguing his sleep, the fear and terror within them all too real. Stuck between his desire to rest and his fear of what awaited him when he closed his eye, Jacob struggled to remain composed. More and more often he found himself back in his cell beneath Lambeth, reliving his hellish torment once again: the blood, the beatings, the torture. Everything as gruesomely vivid as before. More than once, he woke in a pool of sweat and it wasn’t until he felt Evie’s hand in his that he remembered where he was.

 

On Monday morning, he woke from another nightmare to a doctor standing over him, his unfeeling eyes boring into him as though trying to read his thoughts. Jacob turned to Evie and saw her watching the doctor expectantly.  _ What’s going on? _

“Miss, might I have a word?” Evie’s eyes narrowed at his dubious tone. She gave Jacob a quick nod, a silent promise to return, and followed the doctor into the hall. He spoke in a low voice, clearly trying to keep the conversation between the two of them. Jacob watched as Evie’s face twisted in anger.

“That’s not an option, Doctor,” Evie snapped. Curious, Jacob struggled to listen in, helped slightly by the doctor’s raised voice at Evie’s indignance. He regretted his decision almost immediately.

“...needs to go to an asylum….” Jacob’s blood ran cold.  _ No, no, no, no, no….  _

He was about to pull himself from the bed and try to make an escape when Evie reentered the room. He looked at Evie with a pleading eye.  _ Please don’t make me go back. _

As if hearing his thoughts, Evie leaned in close. “I promise you, brother: you are  _ not _ going to an asylum. We’re leaving.” She started packing their things, tossing them haphazardly into a leather bag. Before he had a chance to even sit up, Evie pulled his arm around her shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

She hushed him as he cried out. “Jacob, please. We need to be quiet.” He gave a quick nod. His face twisted in agony but he remained silent as she slung her bag over her shoulder and slowly walked them to the door. She paused and looked around for the doctor, but he was nowhere to be found after their confrontation. The twins limped down the empty hallway, Evie grabbing a handful of medical supplies from the nurse’s cart along the way. 

“I hadn’t planned on us leaving just yet but I think it’s best we go now,” she said as she kicked open the door to the outside. They made their way along the side of the building until they came across an empty carriage. Evie swung the door open, helped Jacob to the seat, and took the reins. He stared out the window at London passing by as the carriage rattled along the cobblestones.

A hole in the road sent the cart lurching to the side and Jacob crashed to the floor. He glanced upward and started to panic as he saw Jack staring down at him from the driver’s seat, jerking the reins back and bringing the carriage to a stop. He watched as the shadowy figure approached the side of the carriage and opened the door. He tried to pull away as hands reached for him, grabbing him by the arms and pinning them to his side. He tried to wriggle free, but the hold was too strong. Evie’s panicked voice pierced through his pleas.

“Jacob! Jacob, stop. It’s me!” He blinked. Evie stood in front of him, holding his arms in place. He leaned his head on Evie’s shoulder as she pulled him close.  _ I’m going mad. I’m truly losing my mind. _

“Come. Let’s get you inside.” Evie pulled one of his arms over her shoulders once more and guided him into the nearest townhouse. They were both panting from their exertion as they reached the top floor, and Jacob was all too glad to collapse into another bed.

“I’ve let us this place for the time being,” Evie said, drawing the curtains back. Grey light flooded the room. “I figured you wanted a decent view. I’ll be in the bedroom downstairs.”  _ She let both of them a house? Did this mean she planned on staying?  _

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, answering his silent questions. Jacob nestled under the blankets and watched as Evie settled into a lounge chair. She pulled her book out of her leather bag and began reading. A peacefulness that Jacob hadn’t felt in months swept over him, a new hope that perhaps everything would be okay.


	10. The Leap

Over the next two weeks, Jacob’s health drastically improved. His pneumonia all but vanished, leaving behind only a slight but persistent cough. He slowly started to eat more, though Evie still hounded him when he returned a plate half-full. With eating more, he found he had the strength to sit up on his own, even going so far as to stand every once in a while. He spent most of his time sitting on the edge of his bed staring out his window, watching people and carriages go by on the busy London street below. Beyond the factories across the road, he could see barges and steamships as they made their way along the Thames.

On a rainy Saturday, with hardly anything to watch outside, Jacob decided to remove his bandages for good. Thus far, Evie had tended to his bandages, changing them out as necessary and checking his wounds for infections. While Evie was downstairs, he slowly lifted himself from the bed and hobbled over to the dresser. He barely recognized himself as he stared at his face in the mirror.

His hair was long and disheveled, much more reminiscent of his younger days, though the rest of his face didn’t hold that same youthfulness. The swelling had dissipated and only a few yellow bruises remained. His face was still gaunt and sunken and he had a dark patch beneath his working eye. He assumed the other eye had one as well, though the bandage still covered it. His nose, as he’d predicted, had a new bend to it, though not nearly as pronounced as he’d thought. His lips were still slightly cracked, but healing. His once-neatly trimmed stubble was now a wild tangle of beard. He’d need to see a barber about that soon.

He slowly unraveled the bandages around his belly, revealing two deep scars along his front and side. They were fading now, blending in with the rest of his skin. It had been so long ago, he’d nearly forgotten about that fight in the cemetery. A third was still red and raw by comparison, but now that he wasn’t in a cold, damp dungeon he expected it would start to heal quickly soon. He stared at it for a moment, the memory of the knife penetrating his belly all-too fresh in his mind. He shook the thought and continued unwrapping the bandages on his chest, which looked slightly gaunt, his ribs protruding out just too far to be healthy. Where his ribs had broken there was a mosaic of purples, reds, and yellows that contrasted with the rest of his pallid skin. He turned and saw the scar forming over the cross on his shoulder. He’d almost forgotten about it entirely; he’d had far more pressing wounds to deal with.

Finally, he examined his face, where the one remaining bandage was still wrapped around his head. He sighed and closed his eye, his heart pounding. He wasn’t sure what to expect to see underneath; Evie hadn’t been forthcoming with that information and he’d been too afraid to ask. He found the end of the strip of cotton and he slowly unraveled the bandages, his fingers brushing over the indentation in the back of his head from where it’d been smashed to the ground repeatedly. As it unwound, the bandages began falling to the floor. His hands shook, the last bit of fabric peeling away….

His other eye, hidden from him for so long, stared back. There was a slight cloudiness to it and the eyelid had a long red scar running lengthwise but it was not an empty socket as Jacob had assumed. Slight swelling prevented him from opening it further, and he wondered if he would ever be able to open it entirely. Then again, was there a need for it when the eye itself was beyond help? He supposed he should feel grateful, as he’d assumed the eye was gone completely.

He sighed and ran his finger along the scar. His days as an Assassin were over. He couldn’t run along the street, let alone along London’s rooftops where a single misstep would send him tumbling to the ground five, ten stories below. He no longer trusted himself to aim his rope launcher accurately, even if he had it back. He had no idea where it was now but he clearly didn’t need it anymore. And fighting… well, how could he possibly fight when he could only see out one eye?

He stared at his disfigured form in the mirror for several more minutes, continuing to study his new features. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Evie said, pulling her hand back. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Lunch is ready if you’d like to join me.” Jacob nodded and followed her downstairs, where they shared yet another meal in silence.

By Monday the rain had ceased, leaving in its wake London’s ever-present dreary overcast. Jacob woke to an empty house, though he wasn’t nearly as bothered by this as before. He knew Evie would return and after being cooped up in the house with him all weekend, he didn’t blame her for wanting to get out.

He took the opportunity to wander the townhouse alone. It was a charming place, quite large and spacious and well-decorated. He wondered how Evie had managed to afford such a luxurious place. Perhaps he’d ask her one day.

He turned to go back upstairs when a chest sitting next to the entryway table caught his eye. _Odd_ , he thought. Evie had brought several cases worth of clothes that now sat untouched in his wardrobe upstairs. Why hadn’t she brought this one up?

He knelt in front of the chest and unlatched the buckles. His breath caught in his throat when he opened it. Inside, he found his old coat neatly folded, his gauntlet and a piece of paper sitting on top. _Where did she find this?_ He opened the note, recognizing Evie’s meticulous penmanship. He read:

  


_My Dearest Brother,_

 

_Perhaps I will find the courage to tell you this in person, but frankly whenever I try to I find myself at a loss for words. So instead I write this, hoping that I can convey to you the thoughts that I’ve kept to myself the last few weeks._

 

_I can’t possibly fathom what is running through your head during these trying times. To be quite honest, I’ve never quite been able to unravel the inner workings of your mind, but I know that your thoughts lately have not been happy ones. I know that in our youth we may have disagreed on a great many things, but please know — despite what I may have said in anger or in jest — that you are a great Assassin, and more importantly, a good man._

 

_I know the road ahead may seem like a long one, but I am here — both in body and spirit — to help you move past this. There is nothing that you can’t fight through, including this. You’re a fighter, Jacob. Always have been. Always will be. And nothing — and no one — can take that from you._

 

 _I’m proud of you, brother. And I know that you_ will _come out of this stronger than before._

 

_I believe in you,_

_Evie_

  


He sat there, numb for a moment, trying to take it all in. She didn’t hate him? After all that he’d done? Tears dripped onto the paper and inky splotches started to run down the page. He wiped the rest from his eyes and set the note aside.

He pulled the coat out of the chest, it’s leather still smelling of stale beer and smoke, and held it up. Dirt that accumulated over the years still clung to the bottom, making it more brown than grey in some parts. He set it on his lap and continued to rifle through the chest, finding several of his old accoutrements beneath the coat: his first kukri, several brass knuckles, and another old gauntlet. He picked up the letter again and as he pored over Evie’s words once more, determination swelled within him.

He raced back upstairs, coat in hand. He tossed it on his bed and threw open his wardrobe, pulling on whatever clothing he found first: a plain button-up shirt, grey trousers, and a simple red vest. He threw his old coat back on, savoring the feel of the wool once more. He dug through the pockets and found a pair of gloves, putting those on before tucking the hood into the collar, which he pulled up around his face. It felt… normal, like he’d worn it only yesterday. He tugged his boots on, the one item that Evie found him in that she hadn’t discarded. He slid the gauntlet over his sleeve, the familiar feel of it exhilarating and empowering. He flipped his arm over and flicked his wrist. The blade sprung forward too easily, and Jacob realized Evie must’ve cleaned it sometime recently. He flicked the blade back in and admired the rest of the mechanisms. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. His eye gleamed with excitement and he rushed downstairs, eager to be out of the house once and for all. He was in such a hurry that he almost missed the small box wrapped in string sitting on the entryway table, another note wedged underneath. He unfolded the paper.

 

_Jacob,_

 

_If you happen to see this before I return, please don’t do anything stupid._

 

_Love,_

_Evie_

 

He smiled his first true smile in over two months. Even after fifteen years she still knew him. Perhaps a little too well. He opened the box to reveal a plain, black eyepatch. He slid it over his head, adjusting it to his face and looking at himself in the entryway mirror. _Not bad,_ he thought, taking in his new appearance.

He threw the door open to the outside and took in the fresh air. The weather was mild for early December and he considered leaving his coat behind. No, he decided, seeing an empty carriage sitting across the way. He would be needing it. He shut the door to the house behind him and crossed the street, dodging carts and horses as angry delivery men shouted obscenities at him. He reached the cart and hopped on the driver’s seat, cracking the reins and sending the carriage lurching forward.

The breeze blew through his hair and buildings rushed past as the carriage picked up speed. The horse wove between other carriages as Jacob urged it onward. His heart pounded with excitement as London flew by. He deliberated a moment before tying off the reins and climbing to the top of the carriage. He slowly pulled himself to his feet, the rickety carriage threatening to toss him to the ground. His feet firmly planted, he finally stood upright. He wanted to laugh, the exhilaration overwhelming him, but it got caught in his throat as the carriage raced forward. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur of purple and black, two Rooks standing on the corner, pointing towards him. Before they could stop him, the horse rounded the corner, nearly toppling the carriage — and Jacob — over.

The carriage settled back on all four wheels and Jacob sat back on the seat, taking the reins once more. He carried onward, winding his way through the London streets. He rounded another corner and stared upward as Big Ben loomed overhead. He glanced down at his gauntlet, then back to the top of the tower. The corners of his mouth turned up, a determined glint in his eye, as he saw a cart of leaves sitting at the base of the tower.

Jacob jerked the reins back, sending the carriage skidding across the cobblestones until it came to a gradual stop. His heart pounded in his ears as he hopped down from the carriage and made his way to the base of the tower, peering over his shoulder at the small crowd of people gathered on the sidewalk that watched him with anticipation. He craned his neck, no longer able to see the top. It seemed to go on forever.

He jumped when the bells rang noon, and as he took a step closer he heard Evie’s voice ringing in his head. _Don’t do anything stupid._

He took a deep breath to release his nerves, his hand shaking. Before he could rethink his plan, he raised his gauntlet, and, with a small pop, fired his rope launcher.

He waited, unsure if the hook actually caught on anything. Perhaps it would just fall back to the ground. He almost thought it had… until he saw the rope tightening overhead. His eye widened as he realized there was no turning back now. He clutched the gauntlet with his other hand only a moment before it and Jacob were pulled into the air. He barely had enough time to kick himself away from the wall before he slammed into it, rising ever higher. It certainly wasn’t his most elegant ascent, but it would do. He watched as the top of the tower came closer and closer, and before he knew it, the clock face rushed past him in a blur. He clutched the railing as he reached the top and hoisted himself over the side and onto the landing, letting out the breath he’d been holding in with a huff.

He could almost see the entire city from where he stood: the towers of Westminster Abbey, the dome of St. Paul’s, and everything in between. In the distance, he vaguely made out the vast expanse of Buckingham Palace. He watched as barges, now looking more like toys than full-sized ships, floated along the Thames, their smoke only adding to the grey haze that regularly blanketed the city. The clouds gave way to sunshine as he stared out over the skyline, taking in the city from above.

Wind swirled around him as he leaned against the railing, hazarding a glance at the ground below. He could barely make out the people strolling through the gardens down below, little more than dots moving on the ground. A strong gust of wind blew just as he leaned out a bit farther and he nearly lost his footing. His iron grip on the railing was the only thing that kept him from tumbling to the ground below. His heart raced as he stepped back from the edge. _Perhaps this was a bad idea,_ he wondered. He shook his head and looked around for another way down. There wasn’t one. He nervously peered back over the edge, the cart of leaves a speck of orange against the green grass. He took a deep breath. _I’m going to do it._

He grit his teeth and looked upwards at the spire above him. If he was going to do this, he decided, he was going to go all the way. He shook out his arms to release some tension, both a little sore from his journey up here. He took another deep breath in and ran up the wall, climbing along the gilded ornamentations that decorated the top of the belfry towards the spire at the top. He took it one step at a time: hand over hand, foot over foot, his muscles aching for rest. His right wrist nearly gave out halfway up, and he worried that perhaps it hadn’t healed as much as he thought. Nevertheless he kept going, determined to reach the top.

Finally, he pulled himself on top of the spire, the entire city below him and only sky above. He perched himself on the balls of his feet, maintaining his balance by grabbing the spire with his hands. He sat there for perhaps a minute, just taking in the breathtaking view. A month ago in the pits beneath Lambeth, he would’ve given anything just to _see_ the sky again. He never dreamt that he would be touching it once more.

He closed his eye. He was calm and relaxed, even as the wind buffeted him and threatened to push him off the spire and send him hurtling to the ground below. He was born to do this. Trained as early as he could remember to climb. “Assassins see best from above,” his father had always told him.

He reopened his eye and — taking in another deep breath — slowly let go with his hands, holding them out to his sides. He teetered for a moment as he regained his balance before pivoting around to face the other way.

He stared down below, his heart pounding once more. He could no longer see the spot where he planned to land. He just had to hope it was still there. And that his aim was still accurate. And that the wind would die down.

 _This was a bad idea… No, I need to do this… Just because I need to doesn’t mean I should… I_ can _do this._ His mind warred with itself. He shook his head, clearing his mind of all doubts. Before he could question himself again, he threw his arms out and launched himself into the air.

The carriage ride had been nothing compared to the exhilaration that flooded through him as he fell through the air. His coat flapped behind him and his stomach flipped as he plunged headfirst, the cart of leaves — and the ground — drawing closer by the second.

He tumbled onto his back and clenched his eye shut. Wind whistled in his ears as he waited. Waited to land, waited to — well, he didn’t want to think about what would happen if he missed the cart. Was this fall always this drawn out? He didn’t remember it taking this long before....

He landed in the pile of leaves with a thump, sending a flurry of them into the air. He lay there laughing as giddiness overtook him. He wheezed a bit, his chest hurting once more. _Oh shit, I think I rebroke a rib. Evie—_

“Jacob!”

Within moments, Evie stood over the cart staring down at him. She rolled her eyes at him but offered a helping hand anyways. “I thought I told you not to do anything stupid.”

He accepted her outstretched arm and pulled himself out of the cart. He let out a small grunt of pain — one that did not go unnoticed by Evie. She opened her mouth, no doubt to scold him, but closed it again before saying a word. He pulled her in for a tight hug, clutching the back of her tunic and holding her closely. He felt her hand do the same.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I’m sorry for everything.” She didn’t say anything, just gave him a gentle squeeze. For now, it would be enough.

 

 

 


	11. The Fight

Later that same day, still on the adrenaline high from his jump from Big Ben, Jacob insisted that they train. Eager to be back on the streets, he focused all of his energy on improving his free-running and brawling skills. They started small: running on sidewalks and down alleyways, testing his stamina and by the next morning, they were on the rooftops, leaping from building to building and traversing across the London skyline until the sun went down. Evie never pushed too hard, letting Jacob set the course. Ever the risk taker, he chose a path just at the edge of his abilities, and more than once it was only his iron grip that kept him from falling to the ground.

Fighting, much to Jacob’s disappointment, wasn’t going well. He became more and more frustrated as time progressed while he didn’t.

“Come on, Jacob. Fight,” she said, knocking him to the ground for the dozenth time in an hour.

“I _am_ fighting! But I can’t see you coming from that side now. Or have you already forgotten?” Jacob pointed to the eyepatch, now a near-permanent fixture on his face.

“No, I haven’t forgotten, but you can’t just fight with your eyes. Use your ears. Feel your opponent’s presence. Anticipate. _Expect_ the attack.” She pulled Jacob to his feet and pointed to his eye patch. “No one will go easy on you for that, Jacob. They’ll use it to their advantage. Don’t let them.” Jacob groaned. Evie was right, of course. But it didn’t make the situation any less frustrating. He raised his fists, doggedly, but Evie had a different idea and dug into her pockets, pulling out another white cloth hand wrap.

“Turn around,” she commanded. Jacob rolled his eye and did as told. There was no point arguing with her. He closed his eye and felt as she removed the eyepatch and tied the cloth over both eyes.

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You look ridiculous. But that’s nothing new.”

He could hear the smile in her voice; he very nearly smiled himself.

Jacob scoffed. “Very funny.” He swallowed, his world gone dark. He raised his fists and listened for her footsteps, but heard only the gentle breeze. Nevertheless, he listened intently. Nothing. Nothing. _There!_ He whirled towards the sound of a boot scuffing the ground, throwing his fists wildly, but his punches only met air.

“Not quite,” her voice — a whisper, faintly amused —  came from behind, the way he had faced before he spun. He turned around again, swinging wildly once more. A soft laugh. “Jacob. Focus.” She was behind him again. _How did she do that?_ He took a deep breath and shook out his arms, sweat rolling down them. He raised his fists once more, his breathing evened, and he listened once more.

He heard the slight crunch of leaves beneath Evie’s boots as she circled him. The corner of his mouth twitched. She was moving slowly, cautiously, her steps barely making any noise. _Wait._ There, a slight scrape just over his left shoulder. _Wait._ A tiny crunch just to his left. _Close now_ . An indrawn breath directly ahead, almost indistinguishable from the breeze. Almost. _Now!_ He lashed out with a tight jab, aiming right where he knew her nose would be. He felt the slight pressure from Evie’s wrist as she gently brushed aside his jab and swayed just enough to avoid being struck. With anyone else, Jacob would have struck true… but Evie was the best. She was _his_ sister after all. He grinned smugly and then winced in pain at a sharp flick to his nose from Evie’s finger.

“Pay attention, brother dear. That was good, but let’s see if you can do it again.” Jacob smiled. It was coming back to him.

By the end of the day Jacob had lost count of how many times they repeated the exercise and was grateful to fall into his bed that night, exhausted. He slept soundly, the first time in a long while.

He woke the next morning to rain tapping on his window. He’d hoped for another day of training despite the dismal weather, but Evie was adamant about resting inside, especially once she realized his cough had returned. Perhaps it was for the best. His muscles were aching and he was sure Evie was feeling it as well; he had pushed them hard the day before.

They spent the day in the house together, reading, chatting, just generally enjoying each other’s company. Jacob savored the time they spent together, but he was itching to get back outside once more. He’d spent enough time inside the last few months.

The rain didn’t stop, even as they settled in for the evening. _An entire training day wasted_ , Jacob lamented, tucking himself in for the night. He slept.

When he woke again, he stood on a rundown rooftop in Whitechapel. He glanced around, the night surrounding him; closing him in, squeezing tightly. He shivered with the chill that swept through him on an icy wind.

Tiles _clacked_ under heavy boots behind him. _No._ He whirled to see the unmistakable silhouette of that dreaded black overcoat and top hat emerging from the shadows. _No!_ Jacob turned and fled, the darkness so thick he couldn’t see a thing, not even his foggy breaths directly in front of him. He ran as fast as legs could carry him, unheeding of anything save the need to get away. _He’s not back! He can’t be! He—_ Something — _a loose tile?_ — snagged his boot and Jacob fell. The icy wind bit into him and he fell fast and far, slamming into the cobblestone below. He laid on the cold ground and stared up at the sky in a daze, just able to make out the dim outline of the rooftop against the black sky. A darker silhouette appeared between the roof and sky and it all came flooding back. _It was him, I’ve got to… got to move._ Jacob tried to shuffle away... but it was too late.

Jack jumped, landing on Jacob who screamed in agony. Jack pinned him to the ground, a tight grip around his throat once more. Jacob clawed at the hand to no avail, choking as the hand squeezed tighter still. He flailed back and forth and something caught his eye: a figure standing behind Jack.

 

It was Evie.

 

She just stood there, arms crossed, watching with empty eyes. “Evie! Help m— “ Jack finger’s squeezed tighter, cutting off his cry for help.

Realizing he was on his own, Jacob thrust his legs into Jack’s gut and pushed him away just enough for the hands to release his throat. Panting, he scrambled to his feet and broke into a run. As he sprinted away everything changed around him. He was no longer running along the dark streets of Whitechapel, but the dimly lit halls beneath Lambeth. The walls around him spun with each step and, dizzy, he tripped over his own feet and fell to his hands and knees. He crawled along the floor, head spinning, heavy footsteps behind him getting louder by the second. He dragged himself through an open door and slammed it shut, hoping it would slow down his pursuer. He closed his eye as he took a moment to catch his breath. When he opened it again, his blood ran cold. He wasn’t outside anymore.

He was in his cell.

He turned back to the door, recognizing it all too well, and tugged on the bars in the window, desperate to escape. A shiver coiled through him as Jack’s mirthless laugh echoed from behind. He turned to face Jack once more, only it wasn’t Jack that stood in front of him.

“Evie?”

She stepped towards him, Jack’s knife twisting in her hand.

“No, no, no. Please don’t do this,” he begged, putting his arms up in front of his face. With a sick smile she plunged the knife into his gut, the same searing pain as sharp as he remembered. He stared into her cold, unfeeling eyes as she twisted the knife, thrusting it upwards. Hot, sticky blood pooled in his mouth as his body slid down the length of the door, crashing to the ground.

“Please, sister,” he choked, blood now trickling down his chin. His eyelids grew heavy and his head lolled on his chest; he felt his life slip away...hands gripped his shoulders and shook him.

“Jacob?” _Odd. Evie sounds worried now. Panicked._

“Jacob!” She sounded so far away now….

 

He woke with a jolt and, blinking the tears from his eye, stared around the room. Evie still knelt in front of him, but there was no knife, no blood, no Jack.

“Jacob, you’re okay. You’re home.” He blinked once more and looked around as he tried to get his bearings. _Home_. He was leaning against the wall in the corner next to his bed, the bedsheets wrapped tightly around his legs. He threw his head back against the wall and closed his eye.

“It happened again?”

Evie’s silence was the only answer he needed. He swallowed and sighed, his chest rising and falling. He thought he’d moved past this, whatever this was. He was still having nightmares fairly regularly, nothing he felt the need to bother Evie with, but it had been weeks since he’d woken up drenched in sweat, his mouth dry from screaming.

Evie pulled him into a much-needed hug and they held each other for a minute. “Let’s get you up,” she said when they finally pulled apart. They unravelled the sheets from his legs and he sat on the bed, rubbing his hands together anxiously even as Evie left him to go back downstairs. He laid in bed, unable to fall back asleep, staring at the ceiling until dawn.

The sun drove the previous day’s rain away, and Jacob was eager to get back to training. He was tired after so little sleep, but a new fire burned within him and he trained harder than ever, determined to keep the nightmares at bay. Exhaustion, it seemed, was the key to a peaceful night’s sleep, and so he pushed himself harder and harder each day, testing his — and Evie’s — limits. She never questioned his tenacity, and Jacob suspected she had come to the same conclusion. By the end of the next week, Jacob felt almost as strong and agile as ever, and he was craving a greater challenge.

“I’m going out,” Jacob said one evening, feeling particularly cooped up after another day inside and desperate to tire himself out, lest the nightmares try to infiltrate his sleep again.

“Is it still raining?”

“No, it’s stopped now so I thought I’d go for a walk. Care to join me?” He tried to keep his voice even. Evie most certainly wouldn’t approve of his plans.

“Not particularly.” She held up an open book in her hands. Of course she was reading again. “Just be careful.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, waving off her admonition.

“I’m serious. There are still too many Rooks out there, none of whom are friendly to you or I.”

“Would it make you feel better if I took this—” he held up his old cane — “with me?”

“Actually, yes.”

He shook his head. “You worry too much, sister dear.”

“Jacob…” she trailed off. Her brows furrowed and her gaze dropped to the floor. Something deeply disturbed her. She took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t want to find you like I did before. Or worse. I —.” She paused again, looking back at him imploringly. “I can’t go through that again.” A cold chill ran through him as he imagined himself from her eyes as she entered the cell. He hadn’t considered what it looked like from her point of view.

He leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “I’m sorry. I promise not to do anything stupid.”

“Thank you.”

He walked the London streets absentmindedly, not really giving much thought to a destination. The sun set beyond the horizon and darkness began settling in for the night just as he reached Whitechapel. It was just as he remembered it: run down houses overflowing with people, pubs open round the clock, and debauchery on every corner.

Jacob turned down a narrow street, the noise of a boisterous crowd catching his attention. The sound grew louder as he walked along the cobblestones, his cane clicking with every step. He stroked the gilded vulture’s head, well-worn after its many years of use. He smiled slightly at the familiar feel of it in his hand. As he drew closer to the loud disturbance, he saw Rooks, dozens of them.

He pressed himself against a brick wall and drew his hood up around his face, shrouding it from the street lamp’s golden light.

He looked down into an open pit in the ground, an abandoned dig site that had once been a notorious fight club. It had closed down. Or so he thought. Someone had rebuilt the ring and dozens of people, Rooks and even some civilians, surrounded the shoddy wooden railing enclosing the muddy pit, cheering and clapping.

Jacob’s brow furrowed as a brute of a man picked up a limp body and tossed it over the railing like trash. Jacob’s stomach turned as he looked at the body. It was man of Jacob’s age, perhaps older; he had a long face, grime-ridden brown hair, and he laid unmoving on the ground. Jacob feared the worst for the poor man.

The fun wasn’t over, however. Another man — late teens, buckteeth, scarecrow legs —  shook in tangible fear as he was tossed into the ring next. He fell to his hands and knees, his eyes widening as he stared up at the brute, too terrified to move. These weren’t fights, Jacob realized. They were bloodbaths. He found himself moving before he consciously decided to act: down the stairs, past the jeering crowd, into the pit. He held his head high and curled his lip in disgust.

As spectators caught glimpses of his face beneath his hood, their voices fell into hushed whispers.

“Is that… thought he was dead… but the Ripper?

Silence descended on the pit with Jacob, and by the time he reached the bottom stair, only the thud of his boots and click-click of his cane on the wood could be heard throughout. He ignored everyone’s stares as he walked towards the edge of the ring.

Rage simmered within Jacob as he stared down his opponent: a man with a sickening smile who brandished a cleaver. Jacob felt all eyes on him as he wrapped his wrists before removing all of his clothing and trappings but his trousers and boots, revealing the remains of the torment he endured.

The brute’s eyes wandered over Jacob’s scars, eventually locking on the eye which Jacob had uncovered. He held the cleaver in a white-knuckled grip, almost vibrating with tension. Jacob smirked as he recognized the fear behind his opponent’s eyes. He raised his fists and waited.

The brute came straight at Jacob, cleaver raised above his head. Jacob dodged the blade as it swung wildly towards his face, throwing his own punch in return. The Rook bent over double as Jacob’s fist landed in his stomach, and Jacob took the opportunity to throw another two punches, this time to the face. The Rook dropped the cleaver and stepped away for a moment, his hands cupping his broken nose, blood dripping from between his fingers. His face red with rage, he growled as he attacked once more. Jacob grabbed his wrist as he threw yet another punch and thrust the heel of his palm into the back of the Rook’s elbow with a sickening crunch. The Rook howled in pain as Jacob twisted his arm back around and grabbed the back of his head, slamming it against his knee. The Rook fell to the ground in a heap, his arm bent backwards and blood pouring from his face.

Jacob looked around as two more Rooks entered the arena, both younger by the looks of it, neither of whom he recognized. They charged at him one at a time, their punches coming much closer to hitting Jacob than his last opponent. One nearly landed a hit across Jacob’s jaw, and he pulled away just in time to hear the whizzing of a fist moving by his ear. His head swiveled back and forth as they moved to either side of him.

Before he could get them both in front of him, they attacked together, and Jacob only had a split second to react. He blocked the Rook to his left first, his wrist stopping a punch mere inches from his face, and thrust his own fist into the man’s throat. While he stumbled backwards choking, Jacob shuffled towards the second Rook, throwing his elbow into the man’s nose. Before he could recover, Jacob spun around, bludgeoning the man’s face once more. The man stumbled backwards and was slow to regain his balance, giving Jacob the opening he needed. He kicked the man’s leg out from underneath him and stomped on his knee, two small pops letting Jacob know that he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. _Just one more_ , Jacob thought, turning his attention back to the first Rook. A quick series of jabs to the face and he went down as well.

The crowd was getting wilder by the minute, and Jacob almost didn’t hear as four Rooks jumped in the ring behind him, three of whom he knew and trained himself. He made note of the weapons in their hands: two carried daggers, one held another cleaver, and the other, a cane sword. They came at him two at a time, blades drawn and eager for blood.

Like before, he blocked the one to the left first, his wrist stopping what was sure to be a devastating blow to his face. One well-timed punch to the jaw sent the Rook reeling backwards long enough for Jacob to punch the second Rook twice: once across the face, another in the gut.

By now the crowd was rowdy once more, and Jacob almost didn’t hear one of the Rooks sneak up from behind. He turned just in time to dodge a knife, but wasn’t able to return a hit. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood in the center of the ring, all four Rooks now encircling him like a pack of lions around a zebra. If he wasn’t careful, this fight would end much sooner than he wanted. He took a deep breath and swallowed his nerves, raising his fists once more.

He took out each Rook one by one, throwing punches and the occasional kick until he was the only one left standing once more. The bodies were starting to pile up now, and Jacob wiped a small dribble of blood that fell from his mouth. One of the Rooks got a lucky hit in, and Jacob had returned it in kind by leaping onto the Rook’s back and sending him sprawling to the ground before slamming his face into the mud.

He was set to leave after waiting nearly a minute for more challengers until three great brutes vaulted the railing. Each of them was at least a head taller than he and almost twice as big around.

They loomed over him, their thick muscles flexing and rippling under their skin. They were by far the largest brutes he’d faced yet. Jacob stepped back and put his fists up again, ready for whatever they brought. The crowd was in a frenzy now, eagerly waiting for more blood — Jacob’s blood — to spill across the ground, and a small twinge of panic set in as Jacob realized he could no longer hear anything over the commotion. He spun around as the brutes circled him, waiting for an opening. The hairs on the back of Jacob’s neck stood up and he spun around just in time to see the first attack coming. Reflexively he lifted his arm in front of his face and the blow glanced off his shoulder. The crowd, if possible, got louder. Jacob needed to end this. Fast.

He went on the offensive, throwing punches left and right. He knocked two of his opponents to the side and focused on the third. One, two, three punches to the face and he could see the Rook wearing down. One more jab and he’d be finished….

A thick fist collided with the left side of Jacob’s face, sending him stumbling to the side. He tripped over a body and he staggered into the third Rook who wrapped his muscular arm around Jacob’s neck and locked it around his throat.

Jacob thrashed side to side as the arm squeezed him tighter. The Rook pulled him off balance and, unable to stand, he felt his body pull from his neck as he half-hung from the man’s grip. He gasped for air, desperate to escape before the darkness, now creeping around the edges of his vision, swallowed him whole.

 _No, no, no, no! Not now!_ The arena around him faded to blackness and the arm became a gloved hand, clenching tighter and tighter. Jack’s form appeared from the shadows. _It’s an illusion. It’s all an illusion._ Illusion or not, the pressure on his neck was real.

“ _Jacob!_ ” A shout echoed from somewhere above, piercing the darkness. The hold on his neck loosened ever so slightly and he sucked in a large gasp of air. His vision came rushing back to him, if only for a moment, and he saw Evie’s hooded silhouette standing on a nearby rooftop, watching and waiting. Her voice floated through his mind as he thought of the letter on his nightstand. _You’re a fighter, Jacob. So fight!_

He pulled in another quick draw of air and, with a resounding roar, tore the arm from around his neck. Jacob thrust the heel of his palm into the back of the Rook’s elbow, breaking it with a snap. The Rook let out a howl of pain and fell to his knees, cradling his mangled arm. Jacob jabbed. One. Two. Three. And the Rook slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Jacob looked around for the other two but, not wanting to end up like their friend, they’d disappeared. He stood in the center of the ring and waited for his next set of challengers, his chest heaving as he drew in quick breaths. No one dared step forward, and all averted their gaze as he stared out at the crowd. He stepped toward them and the front row edged back. With the impeccable balance of an Assassin, he leapt onto the edge of the railing and addressed the crowd which now stood waiting, completely silent. He swept his gaze over the apprehensive crowd.

“Jack the Ripper is dead.” Something passed through him as he spoke the words out loud for the first time: a warmth, like the rising of the sun after a long, cold, winter night. A ripple of murmurs broke out and Jacob spoke again. “Any Rooks still wearing his colors by dawn tomorrow will be dealt with —” he glanced back to the ring, where nearly a dozen unconscious bodies lay in a state of varying brokenness, his meaning plain as day — “accordingly.”

Like rats on a sinking ship, the remaining Rooks fled, and Jacob let out a deep breath as he watched the last of them disappear into the night. He hopped to the ground and shrugged his coat back on. Evie dropped to the ground behind him.

“I don’t know why I bother asking you not to do anything stupid. You never listen.”

“Listen to what?” He cocked an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. Evie rolled her eyes as she walked past.

She turned, one foot on the stairs leading up. “Are you hungry? I could go for a bite to eat.”

“Absolutely starved.” He could hardly contain his grin.

Evie groaned, “Jacob! That’s not funny.” But she couldn’t fight the smile spreading across her face. She pulled him into a hug. “It’s good to have you back.”

He sighed deeply. It was good to be back.

 

 

 


	12. The Master

To Jacob’s dismay, temperatures plummeted overnight and a chill settled in the city. He was sure the wintery weather was here to stay for good this time as he stared out his window, wrapped in a thick blanket, watching as snowflakes drifted down and stuck to the icy ground.

“Oh no,” Evie said, interrupting his empty thoughts. “You’re not sitting and staring out that window for another month. I won’t allow it.”

Jacob smiled and gave her a sidelong glance, his eye following her as she came to stand in front of him. She crossed her arms and looked at him disapprovingly. It was nice to know things were back to normal between them.

“Can’t a man just sit and watch the snow in peace?”

“You’ve spent far too much time staring out this window for your own good.”

“Oh I’m sorry. Next time I’m captured, I’ll make sure to request a room with a view.”

Evie pursed her lips. “I just want you to keep moving forward, that’s all.” He recognized the concern in her eyes and felt a twinge of guilt. He stood and — blanket still draped over his shoulders — wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his makeshift cloak.

“When did you get so tall?” She mumbled into his shoulder.

He let out a small chuckle. “I didn’t. You shrank, you old crone — ow!” She’d smacked him in the gut. “I have enough scars there, thank you! I don’t need another.”

“You deserved that,” she said, pulling away and heading towards the stairs.

“What, the scars? Or your abuse?”

“You know,” she turned back over her shoulder with a sly grin. “I think I almost prefer you mute again.”

“Oh now _that_ is hurtful, dear sister,” Jacob said, answering her grin with one of his own. “Wait, where are you going?”

By now, Evie already had one foot on the top stair. “Out. I have plans.”

“Oh Dame Evie Frye has _plans_ , does she? How shocking. And out where, if I might ask?”

“Just out, Jacob.”

His eyes narrowed just a sliver. “Alright. Keep your secrets then.”

“If you’re that bored, go see Frederick. Or Nellie. They’ve both been asking to see you. Either way, I’m off.” She left.

What _was_ she doing if not seeing Abberline or Nellie? If she wasn’t going to tell him, he’d just have to find out for himself.

He pulled on the first pair of trousers he found and listened as Evie pulled away in a carriage. He shrugged on his overcoat and — opening the window to check if Evie was gone (she was) — leapt out into the snow. Dusting himself off, he checked for tracks. _Aha._ He smiled at his luck. There were two deep parallel ruts left by the wheels of Evie’s carriage. _Got you._

 

Jacob stepped off of his commandeered carriage and down onto the streets of Whitechapel a half hour later, very near to his old flat. He had followed Evie’s meandering tracks through the city in his own carriage and now… here he was, standing in exactly the same spot he had when he fled from Jack all those months ago. Looking at Evie’s distinct boot prints in the snow, Jacob squared his shoulders and followed.

The path he walked today felt oddly similar, and yet so different than the last time. The air was just as crisp and his breath still hung in the air, but whereas before the iciness burned his lungs as he fled between buildings, now it was a stark reminder that he was still alive. The church bells that chimed nearby were no longer threatening, but welcoming, tolling a new hour that seemed to promise hope. The crunch of snow beneath his boots was a welcome change from the panicked pounding in his ears that had plagued his hearing. Even the two crows that sat cawing on the nearby fence seemed more hopeful than ominous, and he watched as they flew away when he walked past.

He nodded to familiar faces, old neighbors that had no doubt heard the rumors on the street. Or some of them at least, for a few people stared at him as though he was a ghost, a specter come back to haunt them.

He paid them little mind as he stood in front of the door to his building. Though it wasn’t really his building anymore, he mused. After finding out that Evie had purchased the house in the heart of the city with _his_ money rather than hers (he’d made a mental note to tear into Frederick for his help in the matter), he’d decided to make the move permanent.

“Are you alright, sir?” A young boy, perhaps ten years old with grimy black hair tugged on his sleeve. A twinge of nostalgia hit Jacob; the boy looked remarkably like Jack when they first met.

“I… I’m fine. Thank you.” And he _was_ fine, all things considered. He surprised himself, keeping his composure when he’d spent so much time imagining the fit he would fall into should something, anything, remind him of Jack. But there was no fit, just a small ache in his heart for the way things had been before it all went wrong.

The boy shrugged and moved on, joining a small group of children spending the day playing in the snow. Jacob sighed and looked back to his flat, where he saw Evie flitting about, her mind so clearly focused on the task at hand that she hadn’t bothered to look out the window to see him once. He smiled, all the more grateful for her focus and tenacity. Without those, he’d be a rotting corpse beneath Lambeth Asylum.

He took a deep breath as he crossed the threshold. The entryway was just as he remembered it: the same green patterned wallpaper, the same wood paneling, the same creaky ceiling. He made his way up the worn down staircase, pausing halfway up as he recalled the familiar thudding of his boots on the same stairs as Jack had dragged him away. Everything else was hazy, but that thud-thud stuck out in his mind.

Standing outside his door, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the knob. Did he really want to do this? If he was honest with himself, no. It wasn’t a want, but a need. A need to put everything behind him once and for all.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open, the loud creak of it no doubt announcing his presence.

“Hello?” Evie came around the corner. “Jacob! What are you doing here?”

“It’s my flat.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. I meant, what are you doing here right now?” She moved into the doorway, blocking him from entering.

“I thought I’d come nosing around in whatever you snuck off to do.”

Evie huffed and crossed her arms. “Of course you did. I’m finishing packing up your things. I haven’t had much time the last few weeks what with us practicing dawn to dusk and all.”

“You could’ve asked for my help.”

“I know, but I…I didn’t think it would be a good idea. The place is —” she looked around — “well frankly, the place is a mess.”

“Next time I’ll clean up _before_ my abduction.” Jacob smiled impishly at Evie’s exasperation. “Come on, let me help you.” He pushed past her, getting a good look around the flat for the first time. She wasn’t kidding. His place really _was_ a mess.

Bookshelves sat broken and empty while the papers and books that once filled them littered the floor in complete disarray. He groaned internally. It would take weeks for him to sort through everything. Cushions from the sofa hung off the edge and a chair lay upended on the floor. The corner of the rug was turned up and the candelabra from the entryway table still lay on the floor untouched.

Jacob felt Evie’s eyes on him as he moved to the back room, where he stepped over the broken pieces of a shattered pot. As in the front room, papers and books were strewn about, as was glass from the cabinet they belonged in.

He did a double take when he saw the floor, where a large swath of blood — his blood — now stained the wood. He knelt down and traced his fingers along the edges of the smeared blood where they led back to the front room, morbidly fascinated by the scene. Had he really lost that much blood? He was surprised Evie even bothered to look for him at all. He moved back to the front room, to where he’d laid for some time as blood pooled beneath his face. His hand subconsciously reached for his eye and his fingers ran over his eyepatch as his mind flashed back to him lying on the floor, struggling to break free from Jack’s grasp as the knife plunged towards his face.

“Jacob?” Evie sounded so distant, but her hand was resting on his shoulder now.

“I’m fine.” His voice was harsh and gritty, as though he had smoked a pipe for the better part of his life. He pushed himself to his feet and slipped his overcoat off, tossing it onto the sofa. “Shall we?” He gestured to the books and papers still scattered across the floor. As he helped Evie collect them and start putting them into crates (“I’ll sort them later, Evie. Just toss them in wherever.”), he noticed flecks of blood that had sprayed during his struggle with Jack. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but he found it hard to keep his mind from wandering. There was so much blood….

“I’ll finish up here, why don’t you pack the things on the mantel and above the bed?” Evie as looking at him, concern plain on her face.

“Alright.” He knew she just wanted a reason to get him away from the blood but he obliged. Once nearly everything was in crates Evie began taking them down to the carriage.

Jacob surveyed the room, looking for anything he had missed, and there it was: the photograph from India, still pinned to the wall with a spike. He wrenched the spike out and tossed it aside, pulling the picture off the prongs. His hands shook as he held it, looking down to see himself, Evie, Henry, and a young Jack all standing in front of the temple in India. A yearning ache formed in his stomach as Jack’s unmoving face stared back at him. He ran his fingers of the front of the photograph, almost wishing for things to go back to the way they were back then. His eyes burned as tears threatened to fall.

He peeled his gaze away long enough to see Evie standing at the corner, leaning against the wall and staring at him.

“Evie?” he asked quietly.

“Yes?”

He paused, his words getting caught in his throat. “I want to see his grave,” he finally said, releasing a deep breath.

She pursed her lips and deliberated for a moment. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said simply.

“Evie,” he said, his eye set on her and voice unwavering. “He was like a son to me.”

She hesitated, then sighed and shook her head. “Fine, let’s go.”

He tucked the photograph into his pocket and followed Evie out the door without a backward glance.

 

The carriage ride was quiet as they wound through London, and the snow fell heavier as they made their way across the Thames and into Southwark and heavier still as they proceeded into Lambeth. The road was now completely covered, a thick white blanket draped over everything in sight. By now they were the only ones on the roads, and only a handful of people still roamed the streets by foot, though they were all clearly in a hurry to get inside.

And so was Jacob. He’d had enough of the cold to last a lifetime already and was ready to get back home, where he could sit and listen to the warm crackle of a fire in the hearth while he thawed. A mild frustration set in when Evie finally pulled the carriage to a stop in front of a cemetery.

“You didn’t need to avoid the Asylum on my account.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said innocently, hopping off the carriage.

“You took the longest possible route to get here. We could’ve been here thirty minutes ago.” Jacob whined as he followed her.

“I wasn’t just avoiding it for you, Jacob.”

He opened his mouth to ask, but thought better of it upon seeing her face. _Don’t be so selfish, Jacob. She's suffered too._ He nodded and followed her as she led him through the cemetery and towards a patch of woods by the edge of the property. They followed a small path through the barren trees, finally stopping just short of a small clearing next to a frozen stream.

Even beneath the snow, Jacob could tell where the ground had been disturbed, a mound that stuck out from the otherwise flat earth surrounding it, just big enough for a body. His breath caught in his throat as he took a single step forward, hesitant to get any closer. Evie put a gentle hand on his shoulder, a small gesture that meant the world to Jacob in this moment. While he had wanted to do this alone, he wasn’t sure he could, until he met Evie’s reassuring gaze. She gave him a small nod, urging him onward.

He took a deep breath and stepped towards the grave, feeling Evie’s hand fall away gently. He stood at the edge of the grave and pulled the photo from his pocket, running his fingers along the edges nervously. He had so many things he wanted to say, but where to begin?

“I know...” he started shakily. “I know that I’ve made mistakes in my life — God knows I’ve made a lot of them — but… I never counted you as one of them. Maybe I should… but I don’t. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t go back and change things if I could. I most certainly would, but I can’t.”

Jacob took a deep breath, still staring down at the photo. He ran his fingers across the paper, pausing just over Jack staring back at him. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and furrowed his brow as he thought of his next words.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think over the last few months, thanks to you. Time to think about everything that happened between us and where everything went wrong. Where _I_ went wrong. Maybe it was the day I stole you from the Asylum. Maybe the day I decided we go to India together. Maybe the day I relinquished control of the Rooks to you. But the more I think on it, there was never one moment where I went wrong. I always did what I thought was right. And that’s something I won’t apologize for.

“I took you from the Asylum to give you the chance at a better life. I brought you to India so you might feel more like a part of the family. I handed the Rooks to you so that you might learn the responsibilities of leadership so that one day you could take control and lead when I was gone.”

A tightness started building in his chest as his thoughts came out, an ache for all the things that might’ve been.

“And _that_ was my mistake: my faith in you. That your trauma from the Asylum would disappear over time. That you would learn to find family in India… a sense of belonging. That you would continue using the Rooks as a force for good. I was stupid and ignorant to stay so blind to your actions, even with all the signs staring me in the face.”

“I never dreamt that, all the while, you saw me as the enemy. Even when it became clear, all I ever wanted was to help you. To ‘fix you’, I’d said. I realized then, with my life in your hands, that… there was nothing I could do. You never wanted to be fixed. To be helped. And there was no solution where you and I both lived.”

Jacob’s voice broke and his eyes now burned as he held back the tears that desperately wanted to escape. “I’ll admit, you had me believing the worst in myself by the end. That everything that happened was entirely my fault. That nobody would mourn my loss.” Several tears were running down his face now. “You promised to break me, Jack. But I’m still here, despite everything you put me through.”

He stood silent for a moment, save for the occasional sniffle. He pinched his nose, trying to hold back the flood of tears that threatened to fall. But with one last swell of overwhelming emotion, Jacob’s silent weeping turned to sobbing, and tears flowed freely through his fingers as he lowered his face into his hands, letting the photo drop to the snow. He choked on each breath as his chest tightened further, only lessening when he felt Evie’s hand on his shaking shoulder a moment later.

She wrapped her arms around his and held him close. He buried his face in her shoulder, letting the tears fall. They stayed like this until his eyes ran dry and he pulled away, wiping the last of the tears from his face.

“I’m okay, now. I just —” he took in one more deep breath, releasing the tension that had built up. “I just want to say a few more things.” He wiped one last stray tear. Evie nodded and gave him a half-hearted smile, handing him the photograph and retreating back to her spot on the edge of the woods. He turned back to the grave and stared at the young boy in the picture once more.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m sorry I couldn’t be everything you needed.” He knelt down and stuck the photograph in the snow where a headstone would be. “I’m sorry.”

He stood and turned to go, giving one last look back. “Goodbye, Jack. I hope you find peace, wherever you are.”

He stared at the ground as he trudged through the snow — the flakes falling harder than ever — to rejoin Evie, leaving Jack, and the terror he wrought, behind him. A peaceful silence lingered between the twins as they made their way back through the woods, save for the crunching of snow beneath their boots. They walked arm-in-arm through the cemetery back to the carriage waiting to take them back home, where a warm fire waited for them in the hearth.

 

Jacob glanced down at Evie when they reached the house. “I’m glad you came back."

She looked up at him, meeting his eye with a smile. “Me too.”

They quickly embraced before heading inside into the warmth of their home. He’d be sad to see her leave London again, to return to her life in India once more, but she seemed intent on staying, at least for a little while. And for Jacob, that was enough for now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!
> 
> Sadly, this is the end of Jacob's POV, but there are still four more (bonus) chapters! Three are Evie's POV of chapters 7-12 and then an epilogue to finish everything off.


	13. The Savior

Evie dispatched Jack’s lieutenants around the Asylum with ruthless precision, each spike pinning them, screaming, to the floor. She hardly gave a moment’s thought to each adversary, too focused instead on Jack’s final message: _You will like your prize, but you must descend into the abyss to retrieve it._ From what she’d already seen from Jack, Evie was sure she _wouldn’t_ like what waited for her. Regardless, it was time to end this once and for all.

She made her way to the basement, down deeper and deeper beneath the building, her pulse quickening with each step. She tiptoed through a hallway and down a spiral staircase, listening intently for any sign of Jack. No doubt he had his trap carefully laid, and she’d be remiss to fall for it. She’d almost reached the bottom step when soft coughing from behind a steel door she’d barely noticed nearly made her jump out of her skin. _Calm yourself, Evie,_ she thought to herself. She paused for a moment. _If all of Jack’s prisoners were at Deptford, then who’s he keeping here?_

She squinted into the dark cell, her head blocking almost all of the light from coming in now, and her stomach plummeted when she finally got a look at Jack’s special guest. Slouched over against the far wall, motionless, sat —.

“Jacob?”

 

No response.

 

_Oh Jacob, please still be alive!_ She reached down to unlatch the deadbolt….

 

“Welcome to the reunion, Miss Frye!” Jack’s voice sent a shiver through her core.

 

If someone asked Evie later to describe her fight against Jack, she’d claim to have forgotten the finer points of the struggle, remarking only that she knew it was not only the fight of her life, but Jacob’s as well, and it was that thought that kept her going. The truth was, she remembered every terrifying minute: every taunt, every step, every strike, permanently etched into her mind. She wished she could forget at least some of it, though she would (secretly) relish in the memory of driving Jack’s own blade through his heart when she finally ended the fight — and his life — once and for all.

 

“We’re the same, you and I,” Jack choked, blood blossoming from his chest. Evie almost felt a small sense of pity for the man. “Oh Jack, you were an Assassin, yes. But we are not the same. And that is why your memory must be erased for all time.” She stood over him, blood spreading across the floor now. “Rest in peace now, Jack. You and your twisted acolytes.” She watched as the lights left Jack’s eyes for good and sighed a deep breath, letting out a wave of tension that had built up for over a week now.

She couldn’t savor the moment for long, for voices started echoing from upstairs. The police, it seemed, had entered the Asylum and were beginning to make their way down to the basement, where Evie now stood with a corpse at her feet. Left with only one option, she hauled the body across the floor towards Jacob’s cell, reaching the door just as she heard the first of the policemen reach the hallway upstairs. She unlocked the door and grabbed a lantern, setting it just inside the cell before dragging Jack’s corpse with her, slamming the door shut.

Slightly winded, she turned to Jacob, his body still slumped over and motionless. Her stomach dropped.  _I’m too late._ Jacob was dead.

She felt numb, her legs heavier with each step towards his lifeless body. She stood next to him and held up the lantern, throwing its dim light across his haggard body, beaten and broken and bloody. Perhaps she never had a chance to save him.

She stared at him for a moment, watching as the lantern’s light danced across his chest, creating the illusion of breathing. The flickering almost made it seem that his chest was rising and falling. Tiny puffs of mist formed around Jacob’s mouth— _Oh my god, he’s alive!_ She fell to her knees beside him, abandoning the lantern altogether. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. He felt cold, colder even than the corpse that now lay across the room.

“Jacob.” _God, please wake up._ His head felt heavy in her hands and apart from the small, shallow breaths coming from his slightly parted lips, he was entirely still.

The door swung open with a loud creak, making Evie jump. Instinctively, she held Jacob closer, protecting her little brother from whatever came through the door next. She let out a small sigh of relief when she saw Abberline burst through the door, gun drawn and pointed at Jack’s corpse lying at his feet.

“Miss Frye, what the hell happened here?”

“Nothing, Inspector,” she snapped. “Nothing happened here.” _Was it not obvious? Could he not see what happened?_ She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. She held Jacob’s cold body closer still.

“Trust me,” she said, turning her head back to Abberline, whose gun was still fixed on the body. “Jack the Ripper is dead.” She felt Jacob relax ever so slightly at her words, letting himself fall into her arms that much more. Any relief they felt was short-lived, for a moment later a voice called down the stairs, looking for the Inspector.

“Now help me, Frederick,” she pleaded, hoping to curry one more favor from him. “No one must ever know that Jack the Ripper was an Assassin.” The Inspector’s eyes flitted between her and Jacob, his face pained. He needed this, not just for himself but for the people of London. But him making Jack’s death public knowledge would surely thrust the twins — and the Brotherhood — into the limelight.

“Inspector, the journalists are here!” Evie’s heart sank as more footsteps approached. The voice, far too close for Evie’s comfort, echoed throughout the basement.

_Oh god, this was it: the end of the Assassins._ And yet, Evie could only find herself caring about Jacob’s uncertain future as she pulled him in close. Brotherhood be damned, it meant nothing to her without him.

Jacob labored to breathe, each exhale weaker than the last. His time was growing shorter by the minute and regardless of Abberline’s decision, she needed to get him to the hospital soon. She held her breath as he called back to his constable: “I want those vultures gone this instant, is that clear?”

He shut the door, shielding them from prying eyes. Evie let out a deep sigh and held Jacob’s head in her hands once more. His breathing hitched as he slowly opened his right eye. He stared at her, a look of apprehension across his face.

“It’s over, Jacob,” she said, giving him a reassuring half smile. “I’m here.” He stared at her for another moment before letting his head fall against her shoulder. She held him as tight as she dared. His body, far too thin now, felt fragile and delicate beneath her arms. He clutched her and began to sob. Evie just held him as the sobs racked his body until he had spent whatever little energy he had and he released his hold on consciousness.

Evie never let go of Jacob as Abberline scurried in and out of the cell, directing his constables to other parts of the Asylum and calling for an ambulance for Jacob. She nearly panicked when Jacob’s already shallow breathing became even shallower, worried that she was losing him for good, until he let out a small shiver and his breathing evened once more. _He needs to get to the hospital soon or he won’t make it through the night._ She held him tighter.

Jacob’s tattered clothes draped loosely over his frail frame, and Evie wondered if Jack had bothered to feed his prisoner at all. Doubtful. _Oh Jacob, what did he do to you?_ From what she could see in the dark, there was almost no part of Jacob that Jack hadn’t cut or beaten in some capacity, and everywhere she looked there seemed to be a new wound to see. A surge of anger at Jack’s corpse, still lying across the room, made her wish she could kill him all over again.

“Please hold on just a little longer, Jacob,” she whispered, feeling the cold starting to settle in herself.

A while later, Abberline returned, a stack of blankets in hand. Evie released her hold on Jacob slowly, hoping (and failing) to not wake him as she carefully began wrapping blankets around him. He looked on the verge of panicking as his head spun around, not calming until Evie came into view. She finished tucking the last blanket beneath him and knelt by his head, reassuring him that they would be getting out as soon as possible. He gave her a soft nod and dozed off in her arms once more.

“What do you intend to do about —?” Abberline pointed to Jack’s corpse. Evie sighed.

“I’ll come back for it. I need to make sure Jacob is safe first.” Abberline nodded, and did a double take towards the corner of the room. A horrified look washed over his face, and even in the dim light, Evie saw he started to look sick.

“Is that —” he covered his mouth with his hand — “is that what I think it is?” Evie’s gaze followed his pointing finger to a dark mass sitting in the corner. Her stomach turned as she realized it was the missing heart from the body they found earlier that morning, a melted candle protruding from it. Evie swallowed the bit of bile that crept up her throat and nodded.

Gagging, Abberline left. He returned a few minutes later, looking slightly less nauseous and bearing a stretcher. A minute and a few cries of pain later, Jacob was finally being carried out of his prison. It unnerved Evie how light he felt as they made their way upstairs. As they ascended the stairs from the morgue, Jacob’s hand snapped up and grabbed Evie’s sleeve with a speed and strength that surprised her.

She stopped and looked down at her brother’s face, moonlight crossing it for the first time in a month.  Evie looked between the sky, dark clouds parting to let the moon’s light shine brighter, and Jacob, who’s brow furrowed and eyelid fluttered as he desperately tried to keep his eye open. Evie’s own eyes started to burn as she held back tears and she swallowed the knot forming in her throat, letting out a quiet sniffle that she hoped neither Jacob nor Abberline noticed. She wanted to sit and stare with her brother forever, but approaching voices cut the moment short and they were forced to move on, sneaking through the Asylum and out the side door before they were seen.

Trying to keep Jacob out of the blistering cold wind, she and Abberline lifted Jacob into the back of the waiting ambulance as quickly as possible. The driver held out his hand to help Evie from the carriage but instead, she sat on the bench, taking Jacob’s freezing hand in her own, and stared at the man. “I’m staying,” she snapped. The man opened his mouth to argue, but Evie’s steely gaze and tight jaw convinced him otherwise, and he shrugged before disappearing around the side of the carriage as Abberline stepped forward.

“I must stay here, Miss Frye. There are still too many wandering eyes.” He glanced back to where the rest of his constables were huddled around the other side of the building, no doubt wondering where their boss was and why he insisted they stand out in the cold.

Evie nodded. “Of course.” Abberline closed the doors, plunging them into semidarkness. She glanced down at Jacob, worried that perhaps the confined space might prompt some sort of fit, but was relieved when, within minutes, he fell asleep. Only the small puffs of breath lingering above his face eased her worry that any minute now he might succumb to his injuries and she held his hand the entire way, refusing to let go.

After what felt like an eternity of riding in the back of the rickety carriage, it stopped. The doors swung open and a team of attendants grabbed the stretcher from the back and jerked it out with such force that they woke Jacob. Evie eyed them warily, displeased with how roughly they were handling her brother. She stayed out of the way until one of them let the corner of the stretcher slip from her shaking hands and Jacob nearly fell to the ground, saved only by Evie’s quick reflexes. She elbowed the woman out of the way and followed the rest as they carried Jacob to a nearby gurney. Satisfied that Jacob was in no danger of falling again, she let the other attendants take control and they hurried into the hospital, where Evie was thankful to be in the warmth.

She followed them all the way to the surgical theater, where nurses began immediately pulling off Jacob’s clothes to prepare him for surgery. She winced as he cried out in pain as they grabbed and pulled and tugged, hardly even noticing his pleas for them to stop. Evie was about to step away when the doctor entered the room and her blood ran cold as Jacob’s incoherent wails turned to clear shouts of torment.

“No. No, Jack, stop!” Jacob thrashed about, nearly knocking one of the nurses over. “No, no, not again!”

“Jacob?” She pushed past another nurse and held him down by the shoulder, the one place he didn’t look injured. “Jacob!” The terror on his face dissipated and flailing stopped as he seemed to recognize her.

“Jacob, it’s okay.” She gave him a small smile and leaned in close. “It’ll be okay, brother. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He gave her one last forlorn look as the nurse placed a mask on his face to sedate him and Evie watched as his eyelid fluttered closed and his body slumped unconscious. Stepping back as the doctor and nurses began their work, she vowed silently.  _I’ll be here when you wake, brother. I promise. But there’s something I have to do first…._

 

Ethan had always taught her to respect the dead, especially those she killed, and so an hour later Evie found herself breaking ground on Jack’s grave, his chilling corpse the only thing keeping her company until a worn and beleaguered Abberline arrived, his own shovel in hand. Together, they dug through the night in near silence and rolled Jack’s body into the hole just as dawn broke over the horizon. Evie wiped the sweat from her brow with dirt-covered hands and, eager to get back to Jacob as soon as possible, picked up the shovel and began tossing dirt back on top of the body. By the time sunlight beamed through the barren trees, Jack was buried in his final resting place.

 

When Evie arrived back at the hospital, Jacob was still asleep, tucked beneath layers of thick blankets. They’d wrapped most of his head in bandages, the bulk of which covered his left eye, and Evie wondered what had become of it. She decided she’d ask the doctor some other time, for she couldn’t stop herself from letting out an enormous yawn, reminding her that she hadn’t slept in over a day. She collapsed into the chair beside his bed, absolutely exhausted, and closed her eyes. She was asleep soon after.

 

Evie woke with a start a few hours later. Jacob was still fast asleep — or was he? She thought she saw his eyelid flicker and his breathing seemed forced. She opened her mouth to say something to him, but Abberline’s knock at the door caught her attention. _You win this time, Jacob._ Playing along, Evie held a finger to her lips and pointed to her brother as she tiptoed across the room to the doorway, where the Inspector and Nellie waited with gifts in hand.

“How are you, Nellie?”

“I’m fine thanks to you, Miss Evie. The Inspector here found me and told me you’d found Jacob. Is he alright? Here, I brought these for him.” She handed Evie a small bouquet of heather and agrimony.

“These are lovely, thank you. Yes, he’s —” Evie glanced over her shoulder at her brother, his eye still closed  — “still asleep. I’ll be certain to let him know you stopped by.”

With a tired smile, Abberline handed a glass beer bottle to Evie.

“Frye and Frye,” she whispered, running her fingers over the worn label. “I didn’t know Jacob still ran the brewery.”

“It’s fallen into disrepair as of late but perhaps, when he’s feeling up for it, he could fix it up and reopen? I know a lot of people that that would make happy.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Thank you, Inspector. For everything.”

Abberline nodded. “Come Nellie, I’ll take you home.”

They left and Evie’s heart sank as she turned back to Jacob. He was never one for avoiding company before. Then again, it had been fifteen years since they last saw each other. Perhaps she didn’t know him at all anymore. The thought pained her.

Evie set the gifts down on Jacob’s bedside table. “I know you’re awake, Jacob. You can’t fool me.” She tried to keep her tone light, playful. Perhaps he just needed a little coaxing.

She pulled her chair closer to his bed and sat next to him as he opened his uncovered eye, staring blankly at his gifts. Evie sensed that he was deliberately avoiding her gaze. She tried to give him an encouraging smile but he just stared ahead, looking — if possible — more depressed than before. _He just needs time,_ Evie reminded herself. She pulled her hood over her head, still exhausted from the past week.

“I think it’s time we both rested, brother.”

She leaned her head back and watched from beneath her cowl as Jacob burrowed himself beneath the covers. She closed her eyes and was nearly asleep when she felt the back of a cold hand brush against her own. She peered out and saw Jacob’s hand, so frail and thin, reaching towards hers hesitantly. She smiled, her mind wandering back to when they were children, holding hands at night whenever one of them fell ill. No doubt he had the same memory in mind as she held his hand once more, giving it a gentle squeeze, a silent gesture that let him know that yes, she did remember. She closed her eyes and listened as Jacob’s breathing turned into gentle snoring, the soft rhythm of it lulling her to sleep.


End file.
